


Running With The Halla

by InArlathan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But Not Much, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Lots and lots of Pining, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Possible Tevinter Nights Spoilers, References to Depression, Romance, Touch-Starved, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InArlathan/pseuds/InArlathan
Summary: After her victory at the Winter Palace,  Lavellan enjoys a moment alone with Solas. It will be the last in a good long while. Upon her return to Skyhold, terrible news from Wycome reaches the Inquisition. After that, she has to come to terms with the death of her clan, her role as Inquisitor, and her developing relationship with a certain elven apostate.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Lavellan & Solas, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 59
Kudos: 48





	1. In The Eyes of History

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers, thank you for being here ♥︎
> 
> This is a little project I started on the side to have some fun while being stuck in Solavellan hell. It deals with some darker topics, including the death of Clan Lavellan, so please mind the tags. I always felt like DA:I was very lackluster in that regard and I want to fix that if I can. I will try to be as considerate and compassionate as anyhow possible and do the story justice.
> 
> The story is placed in the same world state/timeline as [“The Rebel’s Ascension”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380173). I’ll be taking tiny bits from that fic for Solas's backstory, but you don’t need to have read it to understand this one. It's just me making Solas a bit more ominous than he already is :)
> 
> And now: Happy Reading!

“I shall meet you at Skyhold.”

With these words, Morrigan pulled up her ornate hand gloves and turned towards the balcony door. The layers of silk and brocade of the witch’s Orlesian dress rustled softly as she walked away.

Lavellan watched her new _liaison_ leave to attend to other business and let out a long-repressed sigh. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze of the night air on her face, and tried to focus on the here and now.

She'd done it. Empress Celene was safe and the Imperial civil war had finally ended. Grand-Duke Gaspard was to be executed, and Briala – unlikely as it was – had been reconciled with her former lover. More than that, the Empress had named the elven woman Marquise of the Dales, a noble title of importance unlike any this age had seen. It was not anything short of a wonder.

If anyone had asked her how she had pulled it off, she would have considered her success a rare melange of diplomacy, battle tactics, and sheer dumb luck. Even with everything Josephine, Leliana, and even Vivienne had taught her about the Great Game, nothing had prepared her for the horror that had taken hold of her once she had stepped into that ballroom. In that instant, she had truly felt all the ages of distrust and hate that had been directed toward her people bearing down on her. Not that she hadn’t been aware beforehand. Humans – nobles and commoners alike – had made sure of that.

At the same time, the world had seemed so much smaller to her. She’d known that everything she had worked for since the conclave would be decided in that room. Success or failure, victory or defeat – either one would be the result of her words and actions.

 _And I thought taking on the role of Inquisitor was a big task,_ she mused and let out an exasperated sigh. She leaned against the stone balustrade, arms crossed, and looked out into the dark gardens of the Winter Palace. _Why did I agree to do this again?_

That was when she heard careful steps coming towards her. 

She swallowed and turned to see Solas approaching. He looked so different from the other elves in the palace, not just because of his red uniform or that hat Josephine had made him wear for the ball. His strides were long and elegant, full of confidence. He didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him, even as the nobles wrinkled their noses as he passed. Lavellan wondered how many people had called him “knife-ear” behind his back tonight. She was certain that more of the nobles had felt comfortable flinging slurs at her supposed _serving-man_ than at her.

If Solas noticed her exhaustion, he didn’t let it show. He walked over to her, standing closer than would be considered appropriate for any member of the Inquisition. Lavellan didn’t mind. His presence never failed to leave a quiver in her heart.

“I’m not surprised to find you out here.” His storm-grey eyes captured the pale moonlight when he looked at her so intently that she wanted to drown in them. “Thoughts?”

She felt a knot tighten in her throat as his hand settled on her waist. It was a delicate gesture, even through the heavy fabric of her uniform and the thick leather of his gloves. Her mind stripped it all down, filled in the blanks, and reminded her of the warmth of his fingers, the softness of his touch the last time he’d held her. 

They had been on a balcony then, too. The one that belonged to her quarters back in Skyhold. The scenery had been doused in dying daylight. She still remembered the sadness in his eyes before he turned away.

_Ar lath, ma vhenan._

For the fraction of a second, Lavellan was back on that other balcony with him. There were times when that moment seemed more like a dream than a memory to her. When she had managed to stop him from leaving and he had turned to kiss her, she had been overcome with… She couldn’t quite put it to words. A dozen different feelings had mingled in her heart and ignited a surge of energy pulsing through her body. In his arms, the world had made so much more sense.

Just like it did now.

She inhaled deeply and let the air come out with a slight huff. 

“It’s been a long night,” she said in a low voice. “And I feel like this was just a temporary victory.”

Solas’s brows twitched, forming into something that was not quite a frown. It was a subtle change in expression that would have gone unnoticed by most, but not Lavellan. She had always been good at reading people’s faces, extrapolating their emotions. _Dirthamen’s gift_ , as Keeper Deshanna had called it. But it was different with Solas. There was something enticing in his features that dared her to trace every line of his face with her eyes, fingers, and lips and commit every bit of information to memory. 

“There are more battles ahead,” Solas agreed and the grip of his hand on her waist tightened ever so slightly, “but those are worries for another day. Just focus on what is in front of you.”

Despite herself, Lavellan felt a smile tug at her lips.

“A pity!” she said. “I’m quite good at worrying.”

She expected him to let out one of those low chuckles he so often gave when a thing amused him, but his face remained calm. She turned to look at him, trying to figure out what was going on behind those inquisitive eyes. 

Through the open door of the balcony, the collective cheering of the Orlesian nobility poured out into the night. Their spirits had clearly lifted after Celene’s and Briala’s speech. And after a new round of wine casks had been opened to wash away the sorrows of the civil war, of course. Lavellan turned her head and listened to the rising tide of music and laughter from the ballroom. 

Solas’s eyes followed her gaze. Then he pushed himself away from the balustrade and took a step back. For a moment, she was afraid that he would try to leave to join the obvious fun that was commencing in the ballroom, but then he bowed in a perfectly courtly manner that even some of the Orlesian nobles hadn't mastered and held out a hand to her. 

“Come,” he said, “before the band stops playing. Dance with me.”

She stared at him, jaws hanging open. 

_He remembered,_ she thought. _Even in all this mess, he remembered._

Earlier that night, she had asked if he cared much for dancing. She didn’t know why the thought didn't come to mind earlier. Josephine had committed more than enough of Lavellan’s time to dancing lessons in preparation for the ball.

Solas raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you want to?” he asked.

“No!” She exclaimed. “I mean, yes! I’d love to!”

He smiled and she grabbed his hand. Her heart leaped inside her chest as he pulled her closer and guided her into a dancing stance in a single motion. It felt as if their bodies synchronized, their movements aligning perfectly. She squeezed his hand softly and closed her eyes for a moment to listen to the soft hum of music from the ballroom. It was a rhythmic tune, not too fast, not too slow. She allowed herself to relax as they slowly whirled around each other, every step as light as a feather. It was all effortless, so effortless.

“I should have trained with you and not Josephine”, she said, lips curling into a smile. “Where did you learn to dance like this?”

He returned her smile, eyes glimmering.

“Haven’t you guessed already, _vhenan?_ ”

She huffed a laugh.

“The Fade,” she said. “Of course. Although I wonder what kind of spirits care to memorize Orlesian dances.”

“It’s not the dances they memorize,” Solas told her, “but the feelings involved. Every catching breath, every faint rush of excitement, it all causes delicate reflections in the Fade. Nothing draws a spirit’s attention like two souls united by joy and exhilaration.”

“And the spirits seek to emulate this… joy?”

“Exactly.”

The song ended and was followed by a moment of muffled chatter from the ballroom, but they didn’t stop. Lost in their own thoughts, they waited for the minstrels to start playing again. When they did, the air filled with the hum of a softer tune. The song tingled like a water droplet sliding down Lavellan’s skin. She hummed softly as Solas slowed down their pace to match the rhythm of the song.

Then, finally, he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked and blinked at him.

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just… it feels good to see you like this. So relaxed. You’ve earned it.”

Instinctively, Lavellan tightened the grip of her hand on his shoulder and drew him closer until their faces were side by side and their cheeks brushed gingerly against each other. Her nostrils filled with the smell of musk, poppy, and cedarwood emanating from Solas’s skin. 

“You had your own part to play in this game tonight, as I recall,” she breathed into his ear. “Or was I imagining those walls of ice the Venatori agents got trapped in during the fighting?”

Another soft chuckle. This time, she felt the sound reverberating in his body. Her fingers followed the quiver along his shoulders and to the small of his back. Solas didn’t object or break their dancing stance. A part of her wished he would hold her like this forever, while another longed for him to let go and tear her clothes off. She wanted to feel him, every part of him until she forgot where she ended and he began.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she whispered.

“Don’t sell yourself short, _vhenan_ ,” he replied, voice lowered so only she can hear him. “Despite whatever these humans might tell you, you’ve beaten them at their own game. It takes a woman of great courage and intellect to accomplish such a feat.”

“You’re terrible at taking a compliment, you know.”

“I could say the same of you.”

She nudged her nose against his cheek with a snicker.

“Point taken.”

Silence fell between them and the moments began to melt into a tapestry of touch and sound and the lingering smell of his skin. Lavellan felt her heartbeat quicken despite the slow pace of their dance. His warmth surrounded her like a cloak that kept the cold night at bay. And when the music finally faded for good and the nobles of Orlais began to scatter like colored leaves spinning in the wind, she still held onto him.

“We should go back,” he said after a while and their dance came to a halt. “I’m sure the others are already looking for us. Or they will be, soon enough.”

She tried to come up with a witty reply, a reasonable thing to say, but her mind was blank. Should the others worry where their precious Inquisitor had gone. She surely sacrificed enough of her time to official matters on a day-to-day basis. Stealing a moment for herself was unlikely to do much harm.

“No.” Lavellan let her hand slip from his grasp and brought it up to his neck. Their faces were only inches apart, their breaths tingling on each other’s faces. The promise of a kiss lingered in the air, unspoken. “Not yet.”

“Is that wise, _vhenan_?” Solas asked, his eyes half-closed. 

She knew he worried about her reputation. She had worked the entire evening to be seen as anything other than a “Dalish savage”. Was it wise to gamble that away for a moment of pure self-indulgence? Probably not. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care even the tiniest bit about what nobles, or servants or Empress Celene herself thought of her. 

“If history had been kinder to the elves, Halamshiral would be ours,” she said, thinking of the gilded halls, marble floors, and the lavish gardens of the Winter Palace, “and the empress and her courtiers would be nothing but guests in these halls.” 

A flicker of sorrow crossed his face.

“If history had been kinder,” he replied, “this would be Arlathan and the world would be ours.”

There was a brutal honesty in his voice that tugged at her heart, causing a slight jab of pain in her chest. She held her breath, warding off a wave of emotions. The way he said the word “Arlathan” made it seem like he’d been really there. The memories of the ancient elvhen city Solas saw in the Fade must have been beautiful. She, on the other hand, could hardly imagine what it felt like to explore such ancient memories in the Fade. All she had left were her wonderment and determination to change things for the better.

 _Can the elves be like this again?_ she wondered. _A powerful nation, a force to be reckoned with?_

“You look troubled,” he said.

Lavellan shook her head and schooled her expression into a smile. She wouldn’t let either past or future take away her enjoyment of this moment. 

“Just worries for another day,” she said and covered his mouth with hers.

Solas responded to her kiss with such tenderness that she thought her knees would give out right then and there. In an instant, her entire body ached for him. Her heart began racing, pounding heavily against her ribcage, and blood rushed in her ears. She pulled him closer, one hand on his back, the other around his neck. He embraced her, just like he had on that balcony in Skyhold, and let her seize control. With a soft chuckle that was half-drowned by their breathless kissing, he opened his mouth to allow her in. Heat surged through her when her tongue entered and found his, curling around her as if he’d been waiting for her. 

_I love you,_ she thought. _I love you. I love you._ The words repeated in her mind, over and over and over again, like a silent prayer. 

One day, she wanted to tell him how she truly felt. When she was ready to say those words again. But until then, she would keep them locked away inside her like a bottled message waiting to wash up on a shore.

Solas's fingers dug into her hips, sliding down to her bottom. Beneath the fabric of her uniform, she felt his touch like burn marks on her skin. His head tilted slightly, allowing her to deepen the kiss. The taste of his tongue filled her mouth, her very being. Her heart leaped when she heard the soft moan emerging from his throat, an involuntary sound that he couldn’t stifle in time. It reverberated in her bones, sending a pulse of pleasure through her. 

She let her hand wander from his neck to his sternum and further down. A smile spread across her face when she felt his chest heaving rapidly underneath her fingers. He tried to hold back but his body responded to her touch with eagerness. His muscles tensed and his hips adjusted to welcome her exploring fingers. 

That was until...

“Wait,” he breathed and grabbed her by the wrist before she could reach his more sensitive regions. The sudden movement made Lavellan jerk and she pulled back a tiny bit to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a small voice. Suddenly, she could feel the cool night air on her heated skin and the sweat gathering all over her body. It trickled down her neck and soaked her uniform

His expression hardened. 

“Listen.”

She swallowed and closed her eyes to focus. At first, she only heard the indistinct chatter from the ballroom and the rustling of ornate gowns and robes as the nobles, one by one, walked past the balcony door and retreated to their rooms. It took her a moment to recognize the sound of heavy boots on the lush carpet coming closer.

“I’m looking for the Lady Inquisitor.” That is Josephine’s voice, sounding concerned as always. “Has anyone seen the Herald?”

Lavellan sighed heavily and opened her eyes again. When she looked at Solas, she found him smiling and his cheeks flushed, but the moment of magic between them was gone.

“So much for that,” she said ruefully.

Before she could slip away, Solas drew her closer once more. His kiss was light and sweet, like a feather tingling her skin, and short-lived.

Why did these moments with him never last? They always seemed to skip by in an instant. What kind of power did she have to implore to have him to herself for more than a few minutes?

“Why don’t you join me tonight?” she asked in a hushed whisper. “The empress has granted me and some of the others accommodation in the Royal Guest Wing for the night. I must say my rooms are rather… luxurious. It would be a shame to enjoy them all by myself, really.”

Solas attempted to smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he said. “An elf slipping into the Inquisitor’s bedchamber would not go unnoticed, especially in a place like this. No, I’m afraid we have tempted fate enough as it is. Let’s not compromise your hard-won reputation with the court for the faint promise of carnal pleasure.”

His words had a hollow ring to them and the sadness in his eyes betrayed his true emotions. Still, Solas pulled away and straightened his uniform. Lavellan smiled bitterly when she noticed his mask of politeness slipped back into place. 

She knew he was right, but her heart didn’t necessarily agree with the rational choices of the mind.

“We must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies,” she said, reciting the words Solas had said to her after the destruction of Haven. “Sure.”

“Enjoy the little moments of happiness where you find them, _vhenan_ ,” he replied and offered an encouraging smile. “The world will take the rest.”

She regarded him one more time, sizing him up and down with great care. He looked so proud in his uniform as if nothing in this world could break his spirits.

“Back to business then,” she concluded and squared her shoulders. He wasn’t the only one capable of wearing a mask. She had mastered that art years ago, even before she had awoken in Haven to find herself in shackles. Even though she had never expected to use those particular skills to save an empress.

Solas walked a few paces behind her when she led them both back into the ballroom to meet with Josephine.


	2. Away With The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter. This time it's Solas pining and I'm here for it. Happy reading!

The Lady Ambassador looked greatly relieved when Solas and Lavellan returned to the ballroom. “There you are!” Josephine exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief, and rushed to meet them. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Lavellan cast a glance at Solas. Remnants of the moment of intimacy they had just shared still glimmered in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Josephine and offered the ambassador a genuine smile. “I just needed a bit of fresh air.”

“I can imagine,” the ambassador agreed. “It’s been quite the night! Wasn’t it exciting?”

“That’s one word for it.”

Solas watched as Lavellan let her gaze roam across the ballroom. Servants had already swept in to clean up the remains of the _fête_ as discreetly as possible while tiptoeing around the few nobles still engaged in muffled conversation. 

“Empress Celene and her newly-appointed Marquise have already retreated for the night,” Josphine informed her. “As have most of our forces. Commander Cullen couldn’t wait to lead our soldiers out of the palace and back to our camp once he was free to go. I wonder why that is.”

“He’s had a rough night,” Lavellan said. “As did we all. Come to think of it, what about the others? I take it some of them would want to leave as well.”

“Indeed.” Josephine nodded. “Iron Bull, Blackwall, and Sera left as soon as the empress’s speech concluded. I’m not quite sure where Cole is. We lost track of him a while ago. I hope he’s not poking around in the heads of any nobles. Anyway, Dorian and Varric are waiting in the vestibule and will return to our camp outside Halamshiral with the last of our agents shortly. I’ve convinced Cassandra to stay for the night so she can be part of the negotiations in the morning. Her reputation as Right Hand of the Divine will lend more credence to our demands when forging an official alliance with Orlais. Oh, and Madame de Fer has retreated to the Guest Wing as well and has promised to call in a few favors for the Inquisition.”

Lavellan took a moment to process the slew of information contained in Josephine’s enthusiastic report.

“Sounds good,” she said after a moment. “Could you please prepare a full list of attendees for the talks tomorrow, if it’s not too much to ask? I want to review it in my quarters in advance.”

Josephine blinked, genuinely surprised by Lavellan’s request. A few silent moments passed, then the ambassador’s eyes lit up with eagerness and a smile started to spread across her face. 

“Of course, your worship. I’ll prepare it straight away. The list will be waiting for you as soon as you retreat for the night.”

“Thank you, Lady Ambassador.”

Josephine bowed her head slightly.

“It is my pleasure, Inquisitor.”

Lavellan took a moment to watch the ambassador leave before she turned to Solas who had been waiting a few considerable paces away. He straightened his shoulders when their eyes locked. The question in her mind was written all across her face, clear as day, before she said the words aloud.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay?”

Solas clasped his hand behind his back. The longing in her eyes caused a rush of warmth in his chest that quickly spread to every part of his body. His mouth ran dry and he consciously had to resist the urge to lick his lips. Suddenly, the distance between them, short as it was, felt like an abyss that couldn’t be crossed. 

“Yes,” he told her. “It’s for the better.”

Her eyebrows knit into a furrow.

“You’re probably right,” she said but it was clear from her grave tone that she didn’t believe her own words. She sighed. “If Dorian and Varric are still here, you might catch them. You could leave for the camp together.”

“True,” Solas agreed and stepped forward.

They regarded each other for a long moment as if their desire to be together could stop time itself, but they both knew that their wishes were worth nothing. Solas offered a last smile and bowed before her. 

“Good night, Lady Inquisitor.”

“Good night, Solas.”

Her voice broke a tiny bit when she said his name. The subtle change sent a cool shiver down his spine. His instincts told him to pull her close and hold her tight, to give up this charade and spend the night with her, as she asked him to. His wits, on the other hand, forced him to school his expression into a mask of controlled calm. This was neither the right time nor the right place to lose his composure. The slip of self-control on the balcony had been bad enough as it was.

Before the pain in her voice could weaken his resolve once more, he stood and walked away. He still felt her gaze resting on him when he reached the gilded doors that lead to the vestibule and he left the ballroom behind.

Solas barely noticed the friendly banter Varric greeted him with. Only a few disconnected words made it through the vivid image of Lavellan lingering in his mind.

“We brought your staff and armor,” Varric told him and gestured toward a heavy satchel leaning against the pedestal of a nearby statue. The staff Solas had used during their fight rested right next to it.

Solas thanked the dwarf and went to collect both satchel and staff. Meanwhile, Varric brought him up to speed with the latest events of the night. Even with the recent crisis resolved, the nobles of Orlais had already found a way to be scandalized by some new piece of information a bard had unearthed. Solas forced himself to smile and drop the occasional question to keep up the appearance of friendly conversation, but the truth was that his mind kept wandering off like some unruly child.

“Enough chatter, Varric,” Dorian interrupted at some point and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Is it, Sparkler? Is it?”

Dorian’s jaws twitched and the Tevinter brought up a hand to cover a yawn.

“It’s been enough gossip for one night, surely,” he said and shook his head as if that could keep his exhaustion at bay. “Even for you.”

“And this coming from a man who can’t stop swooning about the murder and intrigue in his homeland,” Varric retorted.

“There’s only so much backstabbing one man can endure over the course of a night,” Dorian explained. “You must cut me some slack.”

Varric snorted. “Like that time when you didn’t have the coin to settle your debt? You still owe me twenty royals, by the way.”

Before Dorian had the time to hit the dwarf with a witty comeback, Leliana stepped in. The Inquisition’s spymaster walked gracefully as if she was taking a stroll through the lush gardens outside. If the events of the evening had unsettled her, Solas hadn’t been able to tell. She truly was as good a spy as her reputation claimed her to be.

Three agents accompanied Leliana, dressed in the scouting armor of the inquisition. The spymaster muttered some last instructions before she bid the rest of the party good night and the group moved out.

Solas and the others walked in silence until they reached the outer gates of the Winter Palace. They found a larger group of Inquisition soldiers readying the horses they had left at the palace stables earlier that night. Dorian, Varric, and Solas got onto their own mounts and followed the regiment of soldiers leaving the palace. They rode quietly, the sound of hoofs on cobblestones only rarely interrupted by hushed conversations among the agents and soldiers. With the tensions between Celene and Gaspard resolved, many began to feel the toll their involvement in the war had taken on them.

Still, Solas couldn’t help but envy the soldiers around him. Even with the residue of the heavy red wine he’d had during the victory celebration coursing through his veins and exhaustion creeping into his limbs, his thoughts raced. Images of Lavellan flashed in his mind like fragments from a scattered dream. He remembered the first time he’d met her, fighting in a valley near Haven. Her daring stand against Corypheus when his armies had crawled over the snow-capped mountains. The sympathy in her eyes after he had lost Wisdom. Every moment was so vivid and bright that it made his breath catch.

Solas closed his eyes and gave himself to the stream of images blazing before his mind's eye. They brought him to more intimate moments. His lips curled into a languid smile as he remembered the shimmering in her eyes when Lavellan had realized he had taken her into the Fade where he had crafted an eidolon of Haven for her. In that moment, there had been no fear or reservations on her part, just utter amazement. It had made a wave of warmth wash over him. And then she had kissed him, impulsively as he had ever seen her. Only then had he noticed a fraction of fear in her. There had been a slight quiver in her lips that had made the kiss all the more endearing.

Tonight, she had kissed him again, but this time there had been no reservations on her part. Just like that, she had torn down the walls between them and captured his heart. The memory of her fingers tracing him played in his head like a tune repeated tirelessly by an over-ambitious minstrel.

He tried to focus on the quiet streets of Halamshiral but the dark buildings rushed past him without him noticing. It worried him how eagerly his body had responded to her touch. The more time he spent around Lavellan, the harder it became to keep his composure. Something about her weakened his resolve and made it increasingly easy for her to overcome the defenses he had set in place to guard himself. How long until he forgot himself completely?

Solas was still lost in his own thoughts when the group left the city of Halamshiral behind and the fires of the Inquisition camp appeared in the distance. Orders were shouted towards the guards. Dorian who rode a few feet ahead of Solas stirred in his saddle and stretched.

Soon after, the party came to a halt and the soldiers started dismounting. Solas climbed out of the saddle and handed the reins of his mount to one of the stable boys Master Dennet had sent with the forces. Before either Varric or Dorian could stop him, he bid his good night and hurried away. Varric cast a curious side glance at him, a question shimmering in his eyes, but didn’t give chase. Dorian, on the other hand, stifled another yawn and disappeared in the night as well.

Solas made his way through the rows of tents, regarding the soldiers keeping watch around the fireplaces crackling all around the camp. They looked as tired as he suddenly felt. It was a good thing the civil war was over. The fight against Corypheus certainly was not. But the peace in Orlais would give them all a chance to replenish their strength.

He continued his walk and soon found his tent where he’d set it up hours before. Inside, a single bedroll lay sprawled out on the floor. Beside it was a backpack with a few of his personal belongings as well as an assortment of books he had borrowed from Skyhold’s library. With a flick of his fingers, he lit an oil lamp he had set down beside the bedroll and dropped the satchel with his armor as well as his staff on the floor next to it.

The lamplight cast dancing shadows on the oiled leather of the tent as he took the helmet off and started to undress. He pulled the sash of his uniform over his head, untied the cummerbund and let the jacket slide from his shoulders, then folded every piece neatly and tucked it away in a separate clothing bag. He regarded the fabric, the night air cool against his naked back and chest. Millennia had passed since he’d last dressed up in such finery. The world had been so different then. _He_ had been different. But more importantly, everything had made so much more sense to him. Ever since he had awoken to the nightmare that was this age, nothing about this world seemed right to him. Not until tonight. The secrecy, the plotting, the political intrigue, all of it had given him a taste of what life used to feel like before it all had come crashing down.

_If history had been kinder, this would be Arlathan and the world would be ours._

This he’d said to Lavellan, trying to imagine her dancing through the gilded halls of Mythal’s tower or walking among the Dawn Garden. She would have been a queen among the People. Not by blood, but by deed and pure force of will. Tonight, her determination and tactfulness had brought the nation of Orlais to its knees. In Elvhenan, she might have shattered worlds. 

Solas scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. She certainly shattered his resolve at every turn. A soft smile, a witty remark, a kind word – that was all it took to spark a fire in his heart. And again he found himself wondering who she would have been, had she been one of the elvhen. Would he have fallen for her so quickly back then? 

“Yes, you would have.”

Solas turned and found the young man named Cole sitting cross-legged on his bedroll. His head hung low, the large brim of his head obscuring his eyes and most of his face. Only his lips, silently moving, were illuminated by the flickering lamplight.

“I don’t need you to do that,” Solas said. His voice was calm but he was already bracing himself, building walls of cool determination around his mind, to keep the boy’s probing senses from looking deeper into his thoughts. 

“Heart leaping, chest heaving…” Cole’s voice trembled. “You think that your body betrays you and needs to be bound to your mind's desire but that is not how this works. You long for her because she is in your thoughts already, seeping into your soul.”

Solas held his breath, choosing his next words carefully. The boy’s presence had never startled him before and with Wisdom gone, he was the closest thing to a friend he had in this world. Still, there were parts of him he wasn't ready to reveal, not even to a trusty spirit like Cole.

“Love is a luxury,” Solas replied, making sure his voice was coated with as much determination as he could muster. “Now more than ever.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“The hurt in your heart hardly cares!” Cole exclaimed. “It wants to be lighter, lifted, lost to time.”

Solas huffed a sad laugh.

“It’s not that simple, Cole.”

“Why?” the boy asked, a sense of terror creeping into his tone. “Why would you hold onto the hurt? She wants what you want!“

“Let me have this, Cole,” he said. “Please. There are others who need your help more urgently.”

The boy’s cold blue eyes grew dark as he lifted his gaze and looked at Solas. A moment of silence stretched out between them for what seemed like an eternity.

“If that is what you want,” Cole said at long last, defeat in his voice. 

“It is.”

Cole inhaled shakily, his lips trembling as if new words wanted to fall from his lips, but then he just sighed and bowed his head again. 

“As you wish,” he muttered.

Then he was gone.

A waft of cool air made the tent flaps rustle and Solas secured them for the night, making sure no one could enter unless he wanted them to. With dry lips, he took off the boots and trousers of his uniform before slipping into a pair of tight leggings and foot wrappings. All the while, Cole’s words kept repeating in his mind, just like Lavellan’s kiss before.

_She wants what you want…_

He can’t help but wonder what Cole meant by that. Had he peeked into Lavellan’s mind earlier that night? 

Since Solas had returned from the Dales – after mourning the loss of his friend –, she had been paying close attention to him. Not outright and never in a way that she would neglect her duties, but Solas hadn’t failed to miss her lingering glances and casual touches. And tonight she had dared destiny when she had kissed him so openly, without hesitation or fear. For a moment, he had seen himself in her eyes. The sensation had awoken a part of him he believed was lost to time, buried beneath his deeds as Fen’Harel.

He closed his eyes and allowed the memory of Lavellan’s kiss to fill his mind once more. It didn’t take long for his body to react with renewed arousal. Instinctively, he placed a hand in his abdomen where her fingers had stopped when he grabbed her by the wrist. Somewhere in that undefined space between waking and dreaming he imagined her fingers trailing further down, slipping down his breeches and teasing him. The simple idea of her delighted gasps, while she stroked him, drew the breath from his lungs. 

_‘NO!’_

Goosebumps erupted on his bare arms and chest as a wave of energy emanated from the Fade. The sensation was invisible to the eye but clearly perceptible for a gifted mage such as himself. It surged from the realm of spirits towards the waking world and caused a violent tremor in the Veil.

_‘Do not forget who you are!_

The voice was deep as thunder and clear as water. It overtook his thoughts and brushed aside any pleasant thoughts of Lavellan. Another pulse of energy pushed against the Veil, but this time a fraction of it managed to slip through. Before Solas could block the attack with a barrier, the magic pushed against him and tied him up like a spirit caught in a trap. Solas drew in a ragged breath, struggling for air. 

_‘We have work to do. You know this as well as me. We can not rest until it is done.’_

The dread crawling underneath his skin set Solas‘s blood on fire. It coursed through him like a hot stream burning him from the inside out and he clenched his jaws before a cry could leave his lips. Sweat began to gather on his neck and forehead from the exertion.

_‘Do not forget, Dread Wolf.’_

The voice was lowered to a menacing snarl that was all too familiar. Despite the agony, Solas managed to twist his lips into a bitter smile.

“How could I?" he growled. "You never leave me.”

An eerie silence filled the air. The spell that had slithered through the Veil still held Solas locked in place, but the quiver in the Fade had stopped. Drawing in a few more hissing breaths, he imagined the creature on the other side contemplating his words.

_‘Good.’_

A single word, spoken with pure satisfaction. Solas swallowed hard, steeling himself. Then the energy around him dispersed like morning mist burned away by the first light of day. He inhaled deeply, dizzy and drunk with relief, and fell to his knees. The ground beneath his fingers was cold, as was the air, and he could hear the whispers of a conversation nearby. Inquisition soldiers keeping watch, most likely. They sounded calm and a tiny bit weary, but not alarmed. Which came as a relief, implausible as that might be.

Without thinking, Solas opened his mind to draw from the magic in his blood and dug his thoughts into the Veil like a knife cutting through precious silks. He caught glimpses of emotions, pride most of all, lingering in the Fade. The creature itself, however, was gone. 

Solas scoffed and wiped the sweat from his brow. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was to sleep and never to awaken again. Maybe then he could forget about the nightmare he had created.

“Everything will be set right in time,” he muttered, well-knowing the creature could no longer hear him. “I promise.”


	3. One Problem At A Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I finally managed to finish this chapter, yay! Not sure what made this such a piece of work, but it was and it took me ages to crack certain paragraphs. It also turned out completely different from what I expected. I hope my struggles were worth it and that you enjoy the chapter. Happy reading! <3
> 
> _**Please note:** I bumped up the rating for the story to EXPLICIT because of a short NSFW passage in this chapter. The overall story won't be heavy on smut, though. This is more of a precaution. I also added a few more tags._

Lavellan awoke shortly after dawn. Cracking one eye open, she found the slice of sky she could see through the window covered with dark clouds. She buried her face in a plushy pillow that smelled of perfume and let out a muffled groan.

That night, she had barely slept at all. After Solas and the rest of the Inquisition forces had moved out of the Winter Palace, she had retreated to her chambers and spent another hour reviewing the list Josephine had prepared for her. She had sipped on a cup of hot tea while she did it, hoping the drink would clear her senses and keep her awake long enough to commit the information to memory. Yet, the sad truth was that the names of attendees blurred before her eyes more often than not. In the end, she had stuffed the paper in the leather folder in which Josephine used to collect all important documents for her and had gone to bed.

The mattress had been too soft for her taste, but the blanket had felt soft and silky on her naked skin. A waft of the cool night air had flowed into the chamber, filling it with the scent of flowers from the gardens. She had inhaled it deeply and thought of Solas.  Not having him with her, curled up under the blanket next to her, had been a torment. 

She understood why he refused to share a tent with her on their travels through the Orlesian countryside. A part of her even understood why he never joined her in her quarters back at Skyhold. And after what had happened to his spirit friend, she was glad that Solas had returned to her – to Skyhold – at all. Still, she had wished to hold him in her arms for so many nights now that her longing had completely annihilated any thought of rest. And when Solas had allowed her to kiss him out on the balcony, in plain sight of any noble who might have come looking for them, she had dared to dream of what they might be, to each other and the world. It had made it so much harder to watch him walk away to stay at camp with the others. She had still felt his absence like a jab in her chest while lying in that enormously large Orlesian bed and desperately waiting for sleep to come.

In the end, she had released the tension the only way she knew, by letting her fingers wander along the lines of her body until her skin came alive with desire and the fold between her legs felt hot and wet. She had touched herself, gently at first, then harder and harder, holding back moans of pleasure as she went. In her mind, she had imagined Solas teasing her with his tongue and the breeze on her skin had transformed into a series of feather-light kisses. She had lost herself in that fantasy until the moment of sweet release finally came and exhaustion claimed her.

She let out another groan and stretched her arms and legs. Whatever had or had not happened between her and Solas the night before, it was no use dwelling on the matter. And so she decided it was best to get going. Maybe this time she would get a headstart on her duties.

She pushed aside the silk blankets and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. The lush carpet covering the marble floor tingled her feet and she had to suppress a low chuckle. She let her soles glide over the soft fabric, thinking of the vast open plains of the Free Marches she used to roam with her clan. The summer grass there used to feel like this.

With that image in her head, she rose and pulled on a long gown to cover herself. It was made from ornate Orlesian silks brimmed with lace and slashed with golden threads that accentuated the warm undertones in her skin. 

She was half-way by the closet that stood like a monolith in one corner of the room, ready to prepare for her way to the bathing house, when she remembered that it was more a piece of decoration than anything else. Her clothes were being laundered somewhere, including the armor she had worn during last night’s fight. There were no fresh clothes waiting for her in that closet, not even a towel to wrap herself in before she dashed over to a bathing house.

Only then did she recall what Josephine had told her about the long piece of cloth with the insignia of the Valmont dynasty hanging from the wall next to the main door. 

“Just ring it and someone will come to take care of your every need,” Josephine had told her. “I’ve seen to it personally to make sure that the servants will not pose any threat to you, Inquisitor.”

Lavellan gulped. If she wanted to bathe, she would have to ask a servant to prepare a bathtub for her. More than one, come to think of it. And all of them would be elves.

Why didn’t she think of this earlier?

The first thing she had established after the Inquisition had set up shop in Skyhold was that she did not want to be served in her quarters. Instead, she had attended the meals in the main hall like everyone else. The same applied to bathing. She had made it a habit of soaking in the hot water of the common bathing house in the early hours of the morning before the rest of the castle awoke. This way, she’d always had a few precious moments of silence to gather her thoughts and prepare for the day ahead while pretending she was no better than anyone else in the Inquisition’s stronghold.

Today, she would have to go without her usual routine. She would need to pull on that piece of cloth, wait for the servants to wait on her, and watch them prepare a bath for her, while she did… what exactly? 

_ Fenedhis. _ She hated this. And knowing that they would be of her own blood only made things worse.

With a tight knot in her throat, she walked over and tugged at the cloth. She heard a faint clicking sound somewhere in the wall, but not the sound of a bell she had imagined. Some sort of mechanism, then. Probably enchanted to alert some in the servant quarter.

She inhaled deeply and retreated to the desk that sat in the corner by the open window. Wrapping the gown tighter around her, she sat down and read the list of attendees again to distract herself.

It didn’t take long until a slender elven woman appeared through a secret door in the paneling. She wore simple gowns in blue and white, the colors of house Valmont.

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” she purred with a heavy Orleasian accent. “What can I do for you?”

Lavellan swallowed hard as she regarded the woman. She was in her late forties, going by the lines in her skin that tugged at the corners of her eyes as well as her mouth and nose. Her back was hunched and she wrung her hands as if she couldn’t keep still for more than a few heartbeats. She had grown up in an alienage, most likely, thinking that being yelled at by nobles for the tiniest slights was a gift compared to what other elves had to live through.

She cleared her throat to ward off the pain that clawed at her insides.

“I’d love to bathe,” she told the servant and put as much compassion and kindness into her voices as she could muster. “If you could help me out, I’d be in your debt.”

The woman blinked.

“Mylady?” she muttered.

“A bath,” Lavellan repeated with a forced smile. “Could you…”

“Of course!” The servant’s eyes went wide and she made an apologetic gesture. “I’ll fetch you a bath straight away.  _ Pardon,  _ my lady.”

Lavellan watched the older woman leave in a hurry, fighting against the feeling of sickness in her stomach. 

_ The sooner we return to Skyhold, the better. _

She managed to finally review the list of attendees for the immanent talks, memorizing not only their names and titles but also a large portion of their individual blood ties, allegiances, and social obligations, until the servant returned. This time, she is accompanied by two male elves, both of which Lavellan recognized. They had been terrified by the events in the servant’s quarters the night before and had warned her about them in advance.

The two men carried a heavy copper tub between them. Groaning, they set it down somewhere by the window, while the elven woman prepared a set of towels as well as an assortment of oils and creams and tonics on a stool beside the tub. The men bow their heads to Lavellan before hurrying away again. 

When they returned, each carrying two buckets filled to the brim with water, Lavellan couldn’t take it any longer.

“That’ll be enough,” she said while the servants poured the water into the tub. “Thank you.”

All three of them stared at her in disbelief. 

“Are you sure, my lady?” the woman asked. “We can fetch more water if you like.”

“No!” The word came out sharped than Lavellan intended and she swallowed hard. “It’s quite alright.”

“Mylady, I think you misunderstand,” one of the men said. “We would serve you gladly, especially after what you did last night. You showed us kindness and we want to repay it if we can.”

Lavellan looked at them with her mouth hanging open. 

“You… but…,” she stuttered, unsure what to say.

“It’s quite alright, my lady,” the second man said. “We will take care of your every need as long as you reside within these halls.”

“I…” Lavellan breathed, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing, my lady, and let us do our work. Consider it a kindness repaid.”

She swallowed and felt tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. A few rapid blinks made them go away, but she was still lost for words. When did she become this weepy? 

_ Watching a palace full of humans treating your kin like disposable items will do that to you,  _ murmured a tiny voice in the back of her head.

“I will not forget this,” Lavellan said hoarsely. “I promise.”

The three servants were as baffled by her words as she was by their actions. They cast curious side-glances at each other, seeking guidance in each other’s eyes. “Thank you, my lady,” the elven woman said at last and gestured to her fellow servants to go and fetch more water. “We are deeply honored.”

Ages seemed to pass while Lavellan waited for the two men to bring more water for her bath. Ages in which she studied the list of attendees over and over and over again to give them room to do their work. But when she finally slipped into the steaming hot water and scrubbed her skin so hard with a sponge that it went red, she treasured the warmth that spread in her bones. It was a gift, truly, and one she would hold dear. These elves might have suffered terribly under the rule of the Orlesian nobility, but, by the Creators, she would do all within her power to make their lives less miserable.

* * *

The peace talks were as tedious as she had expected, a series of rituals as dictated by Orlesian protocol. For hours, Lavellan and her companions sat around a massive table negotiating the terms and conditions of an official alliance between the Inquisition and Orlais with Celene, Briala, the entire council of heralds as well as a selection of higher nobles and their advisors. It reminded her of the tales Sister Heloise used to tell her about the court, albeit much less romantic and chivalrous than what she had imagined as a child.

It was well past midday when the alliance was finally committed to paper and both the empress and Lavellan herself sat down to ratify the documents with their signatures. Afterward, the Inquisitor and her entourage were ushered into a small salon where the servants had prepared a luncheon for all attendees. Lavellan didn’t fail to notice the sidelong glances some of the elves shot her and wondered how much they knew about last night’s events. Had they witnessed the deaths of their fellow servants? Did they tell stories about how she valiantly rescued one of their own in Florianne’s chambers?

What followed was another series of ritualized praising, drinking, and nibbling on canapes. All the while, Lavellan made polite conversation with the gathered nobles. And all the while, she nodded and smiled and waited until – at long last – Josephine pulled at Lavellan’s sleeve.

“We have done our part, your worship,” the ambassador whispered in her ear so the others in the room could not overhear her words. “I think it is safe to leave now without causing too much of a stir.”

“Then let’s get moving. I think Cassandra is particularly eager to leave this place,” she told Josephine with a smile.

“Right away, Inquisitor,” Josephine said and bowed her head ever so slightly.

In that instant, she caught a glimpse of Briala’s inquisitive stare. The marquise was watching her intently from across the room while holding onto a crystal goblet filled with wine. Most of her face was obscured by a gilded mask, just like it had been the night before, but Lavellan didn’t fail to notice the veneration in the other woman’s dark eyes. 

She nodded at the marquise, paying her the respect she deserved for the part she’d played in recent events. Whether or not this would turn out the way Lavellan imagined remained to be seen. For now, she was glad to know there was one more person in Thedas that had a chance of turning the tide for the elven people. In time, she would ensure to make her own contribution to the cause.

Briala returned her slight nod with one of her own as if in silent agreement. Then Lavellan turned away, bid her goodbye to the empress and the members of the council of heralds, and went to rejoin the rest of her entourage.

It felt good to be back in a saddle, feeling the confident movements of her stead beneath her. After navigating an ocean of intrigue, it gave her a sense of security. On the back of her Brecilian Sure-Foot, she had the world back under control. Well, as far as it could be, giving the impending danger of a demon army still lurking on the horizon. 

She breathed a little lighter when the Inquisition camp outside of Halamshiral finally came into view. It seemed that Cullen had already given the order to get ready for departure. Humans, elves, and even dwarves were scrambling along the narrow paths between the tents, taking them down and packing them onto carts. No scouts to be seen, though. Most likely, they had already moved out to secure the road back to Skyhold. 

She let her gaze roam over the gathered soldiers, looking for her closest companions in the commotion. From the corner of her eye, she saw Blackwall and Iron Bull helping a group of recruits packing up their stuff while Sera refilled her quiver with new arrows and went her own way. A little further on, she found Dorian passing the time by reading a leather-bound booklet he had snatched from Skyhold’s library. He only looked up from the narrow writing on the page when she passed and greeted him.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor,” he said. “I hope you enjoyed your stay at the Winter Palace. I have to admit I was a tiny bit jealous, spending the night out in this bleak wilderness.”

“I’d be happy to switch places next time,” she said with a grin. “I take sleeping out here over these monstrosities they call beds any day.”

Dorian’s face remained calm, but she didn’t fail to notice the tiny smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“I can imagine,” he replied and gave her an inquisitive look. “The wilds are your natural domain, after all. Although you made quite an entrance last night. You clearly know how to play the nobility like a fiddle. You might as well have been raised among them.”

Lavellan blinked, unsure what to say. Since they had returned from their shared excursion to Redcliffe to meet the retainer of the Pavus family – a retainer who turned out to be Dorian’s father, in fact – she had noted a subtle shift in her companion’s behavior. Most days, Dorian made sure to display his joviality, deflecting any kind of trouble with playful banter and cynicism. But since that meeting with his father, he seemed to watch her more closely, as if he was expecting Lavellan to use her knowledge against him while still hoping she wouldn’t. And there were moments like these when he ejected words of kindness she rarely expected from him. Something was clearly going on his mind, although she wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“We will be back at Skyhold shortly,” she assured him. “Maybe we’ll find the time to open up that bottle of Orlesian brandy the Dowager gifted me with.”

“I’d like that,” Dorian retorted, holding up his book, “but don’t let me keep you, Inquisitor. I’m sure you have very important things to tend to. Like crushing Corypheus in the sand until he stops moving, yes?”

“I guess you’re right.” She made a show of sighing heavily. “No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say?”

Dorian let out a low chuckle in response.

“That they do, Inquisitor.”

Cullen was already bringing Leliana and Josephine up to speed when Lavellan joined her advisors in the commander’s tent. In a matter of minutes, Cullen filled her in on the events of the nights and the plans for the day. Once he was finished, Leliana took over and added the latest reports of her scouts from the Western Approach.

“It seems that Strout spoke the truth,” she said as she handed Lavellan a hastily scribbled note from one of her agents. “The Western Approach is teaming with Venatori forces and we have found traces of the Wardens all over the area.”

“Well, I guess we know where to go next,” Lavellan said. “We should send Scout Harding with a company of soldiers to secure a camp for the Inquisition. Once we have stocked up at Skyhold, I will look into this personally. See what we can find.”

“Certainly,” Leliana said.

A moment of silence fell between Lavellan and her three advisors. They regarded each other as if everyone was waiting for one of the others to add anything valuable to the conversation. It made her uneasy. Despite their own personal quirks, none of them was shy to speak their minds when something was on their minds. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been left unsaid. Something important.

“Anything else?” she asked slowly, gaze flicking from one face to the next.

Josephine frowned slightly, clinging tightly to the tablet she seemed to carry with her wherever she went, while Cullen rubbed his neck. Only Leliana managed to keep a straight face and looked the Inquisitor straight in the eye.

“Just some disturbing rumors we heard, but we don’t have proof that there’s any truth to them yet,” she said sternly. “We will let you know once we learn more.”

She was tempted to pry deeper. Anything that made Josephine and Cullen this uncomfortable had to be worth knowing, after all. Then her gaze fell upon the report in her hands once more. It was just one more note to add to her collection of letters, sketches, and scribbles on whatever madness had befallen the Wardens. 

_ One problem at a time,  _ she told herself and sighed.  _ That’s the only way forward. _

Her father’s wisdom proved to be true, even here, among the  _ shemlen _ he had hated so much.

“Alright,” she said. “Then let's get going. We should be on the road as soon as possible.”

The three advisors nodded in unison, then scattered to return to their own works. Lavellan followed them outside and inhaled deeply. She remained where she stood, regarding the note from the Western Approach for another moment.

_ One problem at a time. _

“You seemed troubled,” a tender voice remarked. 

Before she knew it, a familiar warmth had blossomed somewhere near her chest and began to spread through her body. She turned to see Solas in his usual traveling attire standing only a few feet away. He was holding his staff like a hiking pole – firm, yet delicately – as he approached.

She shook her head.

“You know how it is,” she told him and stored the note in one of the many pouches she carried on her belt. “As soon as you resolve one crisis, another is eager to take its place.”

Solas gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read. His brows were furrowed in concern, but his gaze seemed distant, as if he was looking  _ through _ her rather than  _ at  _ her.

She placed her hand on his upper arm and squeezed it softly.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

Solas blinked, his gaze fixed on her fingers resting gingerly on his arm. “I…,” he began, struggling for words. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Is it because of Wisdom?”

Something in his features changed. The lines around his mouth became tighter. His storm-grey eyes, flecked with purple, grew dark. His pain was almost palpable when he looked at her. 

“I’m sorry,” she hurried to say. “I didn't mean to...”

Solas’s lips twisted into a sad smile and he reached for her other hand. His fingers were cold from a night out at camp but she didn’t mind. If anything, she wanted to hold him close until he felt warm and comfortable again.

“Please don’t concern yourself on my behalf,  _ vhenan _ ,” he said and squeezed her hand in return. “Although I appreciate the notion. And I thank you.”

Lavellan looked at him for a long moment, trying to determine what was going on behind those steely eyes of his. What had happened to the man who had danced with her the night before? Where was that proud stance, the half-amused smile? It felt as if every bit of intimacy between them had disappeared.

Suddenly, a new idea started to gnaw at her. Maybe she had been too daring before, pushing him when what he really needed was more time. Maybe this was his way of telling her exactly that. 

“Well,” she said, forcing the words out despite the knot that had begun to tighten in her throat. With a wry smile, she let him go and stepped back, bringing a respectable distance between them. “Let me know if I can do anything for you. Anything at all.”

“I will,” he said and his face softened ever so slightly. “Now, why don’t you tell me what troubles you just now? That note you stashed away seemed particularly concerning.”

“Right.” Lavellan blinked, then pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “Just a report from the Western Approach. Strout and Hawke seem to be onto something. I told Leliana and the others that we need to set up a camp there, but I’m not sure what to do once we are in the field. We have no idea what the Wardens are up to and that dreaded demon army could show up at any moment.” She sighed. “I might finally listen to your advice. ‘Focus on what’s in front of you’.” 

A faint glimmer appeared in Solas’s eyes and his brows rose. He seemed more intrigued than surprised, but interested nonetheless.

“If you like,” Solas suggested, “we could go over possible plans as we ride for Skyhold. Familiarize ourselves with the terrain and device numerous strategies based on what we may or may not find there.”

Lavellan drew in a long breath and imagined some of the tension that came with being Inquisitor being lifted from her shoulders. With Solas by her side, it seemed lighter every time.

“I’d love that,” she said with a smile and allowed herself to hope.


	4. A Tale of Choice and Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You waited so long for the last chapter! So please have another one, as a treat! ♥︎
> 
> This chapter was so much easier for me to write. It was insane! Nobody told me how much fun it is to write from Josie’s and Varric’s POVs. Had to delay the Solavellan angst a bit, though, so I could set things up properly. I’m already looking forward to writing the next chapter, now. Just need to decide if I want to do it from Lavellan’s or Solas’s perspective. What do you think? :)
> 
> Happy reading!

A perfect quiet had fallen over Skyhold when Leliana’s agent came to wake Josephine. He knocked on her door politely and whispered her name in fear of alarming her with his presence. His worries had been for naught, though. The Lady Ambassador was still wide awake, penning letters and making plans for the day ahead.

“Yes?” she asked, looking up from the piece of paper before her and casting a glance at the window. It had to be way past midnight. The sky was dark and covered with clouds that blocked the light of the full moon. Most of the fires in Skyhold had long since gone out as the inhabitants of the fortress had retreated to their quarters. These hours of silent contemplation were the ones that Josephine found most useful. Without the hustle and bustle of the day, she finally had time to really focus and give her full attention to matters that could not be done half-heartedly.

The agent – dressed in the same attire as all of the Inquisition’s spies – slithered inside like a silky shadow. There was merely a soft wooden thud when he closed the door behind him again. His face was stern when he approached Josephine who still sat behind a desk.

“What is it?” the ambassador asked, eyeing the man curiously.

“Sister Nightingale sent me,” he explained and bowed his head in a way of greeting. “She said she needed to talk to you. Immediately.”

Josephine raised an eyebrow at the man. Leliana wanted to speak with her?  _ Now _ ? 

“Did she tell you what this was about?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

“No, my lady. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her yourself. She is up in the rookery, waiting for you.”

“Of course, she is,” Josephine said more grimly than she intended and rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t noticed how tired she was before. That, at least, explained her lack of manners. With a sigh, she dropped her pen in the ink fountain on her desk, rose from her seat, and gifted the agent with an apologetic smile. “Thank you for your service. I will meet with her straight away.”

The agent bowed his head again and backed away. A moment later, he had vanished as if he’d never been there.

When she was certain that the door had closed behind the agent once more, Josephine let out another sigh. A deeper one, this time.  _ This doesn’t bode well, _ she thought as she slipped into the pair of shoes she had left next to her bed and a knot of worry began to tighten in her guts.

If Leliana saw the need to summon her in the middle of the night when everyone was vast asleep, the matter had to be of utmost importance. This could either mean she had received new reports from the Western Approach or that something else had arisen that needed to be handled carefully.

_ By the grace of our Lady Andraste,  _ she thought,  _ please don’t let it be news from Wycome. _

Despite her best efforts to keep calm, her heart thundered in her chest as she tiptoed down the corridor of the sleeping quarters and entered the Great Hall. It had been weeks since the letter to Duke Antoine had been dispatched, asking him to help the Inquisitor’s clan of Dalish elves. Since then, all Josephine and the others had heard back were whispers about the clan’s whereabouts.

The members of Clan Lavellan had moved into the general vicinity of Wycome shortly after the events at the conclave, moving camp as they often did, only to find themselves threatened by bandits. It was unclear where those miscreants had come from but the clan’s keeper had painted a clear enough picture for Josephine and the others to understand that these were not desperate souls trying to get by. 

There had been numerous options to resolve the crisis, but it had been Josephine who had suggested to appeal to the duke’s own interests to keep bandit’s off his land, and the Inquisitor had agreed to her proposal. Josephine still remembered how proudly she had drawn up the letter for Lady Lavellan, set on improving the relationship between humans and elves in the area. “It might be our main goal to bring Corypheus to justice,” she had said to the Inquisitor, “but there is no harm in thinking ahead. Forging a better world does not end with stopping a madman.” And Lavellan had smiled at that, confident that things would turn out well.

Josephine was not so sure about that any longer.

She barely remembered taking the steps up to the library and then further on to the rookery on the tower’s top level. The rush of blood in her ears had long since drowned out any other sound.

Leliana was kneeling by the small shrine on the other side of the room, head bowed in contemplation. When she heard Josephine approaching, still treading as lightly as she could, the spymaster stood and turned to her friend in a single motion. She didn’t speak as she walked to meet Josephine by the desk that served as her office. Only the dark circles underneath her eyes gave away the weariness that had caught up with Leliana due to whatever news had urged her to call for a meeting. Once again, Josephine was certain that she wasn’t about to learn something pleasant.

“What’s wrong, Leliana?” Josephine asked in a low voice, keeping an eye out for the crows that perched on the window sill next to the desk. They seemed to eye the meeting suspiciously, adding to the icy chill that had taken hold of her body. 

The spymaster drew in a long breath and held it for a moment, clearly stalling for time. Her behavior made the skin on Josephine’s scalp crawl with anticipation.

“Spit it out, please,” Josephine hissed.

“You should see this,” Leliana said at last and handed her a scroll. It carried the seal of Free City of Wycome.

Josephine stared at the broken seal for a long moment before she dared to pull open the scroll and read the message. With every line she read, her eyes went wider and wider. 

“No! No, no no!” she breathed in shock. “This can’t be true!”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“How can you be so certain? The seal could be forged. There are scribes that could ...”

“Because that message was delivered by one of our own agents,” Leliana interrupted. “I’ve sent them after we’ve heard the rumors about the bandits increasing their hold on the region around Wycome after the ball at the Winter Palace. They’ve met with Duke Antoine’s personal representative to receive clarification on the matter since the duke didn’t think us worthy enough to send word of his own accord.” She gestured towards the scroll. “But now the duke has sent his message and the agent has forwarded it to us as soon as humanly possible.” 

The world spun around Josephine as she tried to read the letter for a second time. The writing was meticulous, each stroke of the quill made with utmost precision. Somehow she failed to reconcile the words on the page with their meaning. How could a message this horrible be delivered with such confidence?

“We have to tell the Inquisitor,” she said in a grave voice, her gaze blurring as she stared past the ravens and out into the night sky.

Leliana didn’t look away, but her gaze softened and a pitiful expression spread across her eyes and mouth. 

“I’m afraid so.”

Josephine covered her mouth with one hand and leaned against the desk for fear her legs might give out. This wasn’t just bad news. This was devastating in a way she couldn’t fathom to express. As soon as Lavellan learned about the events at Wycome, it would change her forever. There was no doubt about it.

“I will do it,” she said. “It was I who proposed to appeal for the duke’s help after all. If we had sent our own troops or had operatives distract the bandits…” She let out a disgruntled noise. “If I had been smarter...”

The lines around Leliana’s eyes deepened.

“You gave advice to the best of your knowledge and belief, Josie,” she said softly. “It was mere coincidence, a cruel twist of fate, that things turned out the way they did. But you don’t have to do this alone. I can go with you, try to soften the blow.”

“No!” Josephine waved her concerns away with a small gesture. “You tell the commander about this. Informing the Inquisitor is my responsibility.”

“You’re blaming yourself,” Lelliana noticed.

“Of course, I do!” Josephine hissed, angry at herself rather than her colleague and friend. “Lavellan trusted me with this, trusted my judgment on the matter. I have failed her. Now I shall pay the price for it.”

“Their death wasn’t your fault, Josie. There was no reason to believe the duke would fail to arrive on time. He might as well have.” 

“And yet, he didn’t,” Josephine remarked bitterly. “Intentional or not.”

Her gaze fell upon the scroll in her hand once more as she realized how incredibly foolish she had been. During the entire ride from the Winter Palace back to Skyhold, she had hoped that the rumors out of Wycome would turn out to be just that: rumors. She had guessed that someone had spread them to weaken the Inquisitor’s resolve and therefore the Inquisition itself. It wouldn’t have been the first time either. The remaining officials within the Chantry had cooked up all sorts of rumors to bring Lavellan into miscredit before, after all. None of them had carried any weight and therefore didn’t need to take up any of the Inquisitor’s time. That was why she, Leliana, and Cullen had decided not to tell their Inquisitor about these rumors until it became absolutely necessary. The commander had not been pleased, of course. He had called it a deception doomed to fail. Leliana and Josephine, however, had insisted on keeping silent. But now the rumors had proved to be true – the one time that she truly wished they wouldn’t –, she had to face up to her own failure. For Lavellan’s sake, if nothing else.

“When do you want to tell her?” Leliana asked, regarding her old friend intently.

“Maybe in the morning,” Josephine replied. “It’s the best time to tell her discreetly before the day starts and everyone will be nagging her for attention. I just need to catch her in private.”

“Hm,” Leliana muttered. “It’s as good a plan as any, I guess. People will learn about this soon enough, anyway. There is no knowing what kind of effect this will have on Lavellan. She might even abandon the Inquisition.”

Josephine sighed heavily.

“I’m afraid you are correct.”

* * *

  
  


When Varric entered the Great Hall at first light, things were calm by Inquisition standards. Only a handful of soldiers had already dragged themselves to the hall for breakfast along with a selection of companions from the Inquisitor’s inner circle. 

Varric had to admit that he was happy to be back at Skyhold.

No, “happy” didn’t quite capture his mood.  _ Overjoyed _ was be a better word for it. He would choose the warm hearth fires in the great hall, the sour dwarven ale from the tavern, and a chamber with a real bed over long-distance travel any day. Not that the journey back to Skyhold had been dull _ per se _ . In fact, the night at the Winter Palace had been so inspiring that he had spent most of the travel scribbling notes and brainstorming ideas. It just so happened that he agreed more with the hustle and bustle of Skyhold than the bumpy roads of the Orlesian countryside. The only way to make him feel more at home would be if Sparkler or one of the rebel mages found a way to teleport him back to Kirkwall – right into the Hanged Man, preferably –, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Lavellan seemed to be in a particularly good mood. The elven woman had taken up her usual place at the head of the table, stirring a bowl of porridge in front of her. This morning, she wore her blond hair in a loose braid that dangled over one shoulder. The red vallaslin on her face complemented the red blouse and stood in stark contrast to the white gloves and scarf. Varric bid her good morning when he approached, baffled that she didn’t respond in kind right away. Instead, her lips curled into a slight smile while she gazed dreamily into the distance.

“Care to share what’s on your mind?” Varric asked in a cheerful tone as he dropped onto an empty seat nearby and helped himself to a serving of cooked sausages, bread, and stewed fruit. “Must be something pleasant by the looks of it.”

She blinked at him, obviously perplexed. 

“Good morning, Varric,” she said. “I was… thinking about the Winter Palace.”

Varric frowned, sizing her up and down. “Really? I’d thought you’d be happy to never think of this dreadful place again. You know, after what happened and all.”

“She ought to revel in her glory for a while,” Dorian interjected. The Tevinter mage sat three chairs down the line on the other side of the table and moved a piece of sausage around on his plate with a fork. “If I were her, I‘d grant myself permission to marvel at my own genius. For a little while, at least.“

Varric scoffed and reached for the platter. “As if you needed permission, Sparkler. But you’re right, it’s a nice diversion  _ not _ to have to fight a mad noblewoman to the death for once.”

_ Although I doubt Lavellan’s good mood has anything to do with that _ , he wanted to add but didn’t dare to say the words out loud.

Only a few days prior, Lavellan had been terribly nervous while Vivienne, Josephine, and Leliana had tried to drill every Orlesian dance in existence into her. Varric knew because he had watched their combined efforts to prepare the Inquisitor for what awaited her at the Winter Palace. He’d even tried to memorize a few of the dances himself as part of his research for his new book serial, but he’d soon been distracted by Lavellan‘s fearful demeanor. From what he can tell, she had been scared shitless by the prospect of being talked down to by the Orlesian nobles, and Varric could hardly blame her. If it weren’t for his fame as an author and his ties to the Carta, he had no doubt that Celene’s courtiers would have treated him the exact same way. Apart from that, he liked Lavellan in a way and seeing the woman who had stood against Corypheus at Haven without so much as batting an eyelid picking nervously at her fingernails as she tried to figure out the difference between a  _ courante _ and an  _ allemande _ had made him anxious, to say the least.

So, what has changed?

Dorian was right about Lavellan’s success at the Winter Palace. She has proven herself when she exposed Florianne de Chalons in front of the entire Orlesian court. No one, not even some pampered noble with more confidence that was good for them, would dare to challenge the Inquisitor now. But that wasn’t the only reason for Lavellan’s new-found cheerfulness.

Varric was fairly certain that it had something to do with a certain apostate sitting to her right.

Solas nibbled at a slice of bread, flushing it down with the occasional sip from a cup of water while trying very hard not to glance in Lavellan’s general direction. He, too, was curiously self-absorbed this morning. Not that the elf was particularly talkative to begin with unless prompted to share one of his tales about the Fade. What really intrigued Varric was the fact that Chuckles had shown up to eat breakfast with the rest of the crew at all, after he’d made it a habit to eat alone in the rotunda. And that wasn’t the only thing he had noticed.

The behavior of the elven apostate had changed drastically during these last few weeks. Had he once kept to himself, painting his murals in Skyhold’s rotunda, Varric now saw him wandering around and engaging in small-talk with servants, soldiers, and spies. At first, Varric was drawn to believe that Chuckles had grown tired of spending his days alone and was looking for some kind of companionship. It took him a while to understand what was really going on. After that, it was very hard not to notice the yearning side-glances Lavellan and Solas exchanged whenever they happened to be in the same room. 

Varric wasn’t sure how many of the others had picked up on the subtle bond that had formed between the Inquisitor and the apostate, but it couldn’t take long before the news spread. Their affection towards each other became more and more apparent with every passing day, despite Lavellan’s best efforts to keep her interactions with Chuckles polite and professional when he or any of the other companions was around.  But whatever was going on between the two when no one was looking, Varric had to admit that he liked Chuckles a lot better these days. The elf’s brisk attitude had subsided thanks to Lavellan’s influence and he seemed genuinely content for once. It was a nice change of pace.

_ What’s it with the apostate, though?  _ Varric asked himself and he regarded Lavellan once more. The way she eyed Chuckles reminded him too much of how Hawke used to look at Blondie back in the day: Big puppy eyes, a slight smile on her lips, always looking for an excuse to touch him… and Varric knew all too well how  _ that _ dalliance had ended. At least the chances were good that Lavellan wouldn’t have to drive a sword through her sweetheart’s heart in the end. 

Some bright spot.

“The Winter Palace was a victory,” Lavellan agreed and kept stirring her porridge, “but there’s much more work waiting for us.” She cast a glance at Varric. “I imagine you are looking forward to being reunited with Hawke once we get to the Western Approach.”

Varric let out a disgruntled snort and drove a fork through the sausage on his plate. “With all due respect, Inquisitor, but I’d rather meet with her in the sewers of Kirkwall then traversing a desolation that hasn’t recovered from the Blight in seven hundred years.”

“Oh, come on,” Lavellan said with a smirk. “Being out in the wild is not  _ that _ bad.”

“Speak only for yourself, my lady,” Varric replied. “Stepping outside is dangerous business for people like me. It’s like saving money to hire a Crow for your own assassination.”

She let out a heartfelt laugh. 

“I can hardly argue with that,” she said.

The conversation died down while they ate, contemplating the day that lay ahead. There was a pile of letters on Varric’s desk waiting to be answered, those from the Merchant’s Guild notwithstanding. If he got to them quickly, he might carve out some time to write that first scene for his new Orlesian serial. The idea for it had been gnawing at him all night and he already heard the voices of the characters whispering in his head again, urging him to write them into existence.

Varric was onto his second serving of breakfast when the door to Josephine’s office swung open and the ambassador stepped out. She stepped quietly, but the chain across her chest and the ruffles on her sleeves seemed to be in slight disarray. A most unusual sight.

“Inquisitor,” she said in a low voice, standing a few paces away from Lavellan. “I looked in your quarters for you but couldn’t find you. May we speak?”

Lavellan paused and looked at Josephine for a long moment before a smile spread across her face. “Did you stay up all night again?” she asked and gestured towards an empty seat. “Please join us. Enjoy yourself for a moment. You look like you could use a break already.”

“I’d rather not, my lady, but thank you.”

Varric squinted. The Lady Ambassador was never one to take her duty lightly, but she was more serious than usual. He wondered what had brought this on.

“May we speak, Inquisitor?” Josephine asked again.

“Of course,” Lavellan replied, set her breakfast aside, and turned in her seat to face the ambassador. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d rather discuss this in private,” she said and fumbled with the scroll Varric hadn’t realized she was holding. It was a short letter by the looks of it, but the broken wax seal suggested that the content was important, if not delicate.

Lavellan noticed it, too. 

“It’s about that, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the scroll. 

“Yes.”

The Inquisitor eyed the ambassador for a long moment, then stood and straightened her blouse. She held out a hand as she approached Josephine. “Well, then,” she said in a soothing tone, “show me.”

Josephine winced, tightening her grip on the scroll for the fraction of a second, and looked nervously at the few people who had gathered in the hall.

“It’s quite alright,” Lavellan assured her and nodded towards Solas, Varric, and Dorian. “There is no one here I’d keep secrets from.”

The ambassador squared her shoulders and slowly handed the scroll to Lavellan.

“You really take these things too seriously, Josephine,” the Inquisitor said with a grin as she unrolled the paper. “And I thought I excelled at worrying about everything.”

Varric watched closely while Lavellan read the letter, as did Solas and Dorian. To their shared surprise, the Inquisitor went very still as her gaze flew over the neatly penned lines. When she looked at Josephine again, her face had blanched deeply and all light seemed to have vanished from her eyes. 

“That...,” she croaked. “No… It can’t be. It  _ can’t _ .”

Something in her voice sent an icy shiver down Varric’s spine. There was more than just fear in her words, her expression, her posture. Everything about her spoke of total horror.

_ Holy shit, that’s not good. _

“I’m so sorry, Inquisitor,” Josephine said and the excessive sadness on her face did nothing to calm Varric’s nerves. “It was my fault. If I had…”

But Lavellan raised one hand in a swift gesture, cutting her off right then and there.

“Don’t!” she snapped. “Just… don’t…”

An eerie silence filled the room, only interrupted by the crackling hearth fires in the hall. For a long moment, Lavellan just stood there, reading the scroll over and over again with shaking hands. The ambassador stared at her, mouth agape, as if she was looking for the right words to say. 

Before Varric could think of a clever thing to say, Solas had risen from his seat. 

“What’s wrong,  _ vhenan _ ?” he asked in a soft tone.

The apostate had taken three steps towards Lavellan when she snapped out of her trance and clutched the scroll so tightly that the paper crumpled. “Excuse me,” she whispered and turned on her heel, walking stiffly towards the door that led up to her quarters.

Solas paused, shifting on his feet. He watched silently as the door opened and Lavellan vanished from their view. His fingers twitched nervously.

“What are you waiting for, Chuckles?” Varric asked briskly. “An invitation?”

The elf cast a glance at Varric that might have been a convincing glare if his face wasn’t twisted by genuine worry. Then he stalked off, following Lavellan up the tower to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

Dorian let out a breath he had been holding and stared at Varric and then at Josephine. “What, in Andraste’s name, just happened?” he asked.

“Good question, Sparkler,” Varric growled. “I’ve never seen her this horrified before. Andraste’s ass, what was in that letter, Ruffles?”

The ambassador stood there, the image of pure mortification. She squeezed her fingers nervously and the stricken expression on her face was in no hurry to go away. 

“It’s about the Inquisitor’s family,” she said in a grave voice. “The members of her clan… They were killed. All of them.”


	5. The Weight Of What Was Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very sorry. Truly. This chapter is pretty angsty, even by my standards. I hope you can forgive me! There will be some fluff in this story eventually, but right now it's all darkness and drama. Please enjoy the ride!

Solas steeled himself as he climbed the narrow staircase that led up to the Inquisitor’s quarters. His wits told him to leave, for his own sake and Lavellan’s, but his heart convinced him otherwise. Every fiber in his body felt the irresistible pull towards her that had been growing stronger and stronger ever since their first fateful meeting on a snowy mountain path just outside of Haven when she had used the mark on her hand to close the first rift. His mark. The mark of Fen’Harel.

_I hope you know what you’re doing._

Solas felt the creature’s voice more than he heard it. It slipped through a tiny tear in the Veil and slithered into his mind. He paused half-way up the stairs and focused inward. Drawing from the magic in his blood, he closed his eyes and reached for the Fade.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I haven’t forgotten.”

A cool shiver crawled along his neck and shoulders, the equivalent of an icy laugh from beyond the Veil.

Solas stretched out with his thoughts. The creature was closer than he’d like to admit, lurking just out of reach. Only when he advanced deeper into the realm of dreams and tried to touch the creature with his mind, he felt it recoil like a beast waiting for the right moment to strike. Magical energy churned like a maelstrom as it withdrew deeper into the Fade.

Only when he was certain that the creature’s hold on him had subsided, he climbed the last flight of stairs that led up to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

Solas wasn’t certain what to expect. The expression on Lavellan’s face when she had read the letter had spoken of fear, disbelief and, inevitably, shock. Whatever message had reached her, it must have been devastating if it could rattle her this badly.

When Solas reached the top of the stairs, he found Lavellan standing by the glass doors that led out onto the balcony. If he hadn’t witnessed her reaction to the letter first-hand, he might have thought that she stared out onto the snowy mountains in thoughtful contemplation. She still held the unrolled scroll with the letter in one hand. The crumbled paper swayed gently in the wind.

Solas walked over to her carefully as if sneaking up to a wounded animal. He didn’t want to startle her with his presence.

“Vhenan.”

Despite the softness in his voice, she flinched. When she turned, Solas noticed how pale and drained she looked. Every bit of vividness had been sucked from her face and her green eyes were empty and hollow. Even the blood writing on her face seemed to have lost its color.

Lavellan blinked at him, an expression of wonder on her face. 

“Solas,” she said disbelievingly.

They regarded each other for a long moment. Solas waited for her to open up to him in one way or another. Ever since he’d met her, it had always been her to make the first move. She had struck up conversations with him back in Haven. She had drawn him into a kiss in a Fade dream that he himself had orchestrated. _Sweet skies,_ she had kissed him back at the Winter Palace not too long ago as if she had been hoping to be caught in the act by the Orlesian nobles. To see her speechless no was more than alarming.

“Care to share what was in that message?” he asked, careful to give his voice a soothing touch.

She lowered her gaze to the scroll in her hand and stared at it for another moment, then handed it to Solas without another word. His eyes remained fixed on her until he had unrolled the crumpled paper to read the message it carried:

> _To the members of the Inquisition,_
> 
> _I regret that my help for your Dalish allies came too late to be of use. By the time my forces arrived in the area, the Dalish had been scattered or killed, and there seems little left of their clan._
> 
> _I understand your Inquisitor must be feeling the loss of her clan. Please be assured of my promise of future help whenever it is necessary._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Duke Antoine of Wycome_

Solas inhaled deeply.

He had his own feelings towards the Dalish and very conflicted ones at that, but he’d always recognized what her clan meant to Lavellan. They had made her, molded her in their way, to be the woman she was. The woman he loved. For that, he had to be thankful.

And now, they were gone.

His gaze flicked back to Lavellan. She wrung her hands in desperation, eyes wide and empty as if she was looking at something in the distance that only she could see. Back in the times of Arlathan, before the creation of the Veil, her emotions had filled the air around her like a dark aura. They would have been like a beacon to everyone around her, begging to come to her aid. But Solas didn’t need magic to understand how she felt. He knew the crushing pain that came with a loss of this magnitude. He knew it all too well. It was like a cage with strong bars and an even stronger lock. Nothing, neither force nor willpower, was able to break it.

He closed the letter, pressing the wax seal back into place, and set it on top of a drawer nearby. Then he turned back to Lavellan who still hadn’t moved. He reached for her and took her left hand in his. He felt the slight pulse that emanated from the mark on her hand as his fingers closed around hers, squeezing them gently.

“I’m here,” he said because it was the only thing to say that didn’t seem hollow.

Lavellan’s lips parted as she stared at him. A heartbeat later, she rushed towards him and embraced him tightly. Solas wrapped his arms around her, one hand gently cradling the back of her head, and allowed her to bury her face in the arch between his neck and shoulder. Her fingers dug into his back, clawing at the fabric of his tunic. He could feel the tension in her body growing with every passing moment. She shivered in his arms. He heard her breathing heavily while she fought against the storm of emotions inside her and felt her rapid heartbeat right next to his own.

“I’m here,” he said again with a silent jab in his chest. She clung to him like a drowning woman holding onto a piece of driftwood amidst troubled waters. If only he could be the right person to hold onto.

 _Not now,_ he told himself as he buried his face in her hair and inhaled the blend of herbs and lavender that went so well with the scent of her skin. He threaded his fingers in her hair, making flaxen strands slip from her braid. She eased into his touch and let out a dry sob. 

“Solas,” she breathed.

Then, finally, she began to cry.

Solas didn’t know how long they just stood there, holding each other. It might have been minutes or entire ages. All he could think about was his inability to ease her pain. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had done this to her, with his scheming and his clever plans. If he hadn’t cast the Veil to lock away the Evanuris, there would be no Dalish clans roaming the lands and no city elves rotting away in alienates. They would all be elvhen – the People, _his people_ – and together they would have withstood the attempts of the early human civilizations to conquer their empire. None of them would have had to submit to Tevinter tyranny, none of them would have had the need to fight for the Dales and lose them in an Exalted March. And Lavellan… she might have been spared the loss of her family and the pain that came with it.

If he had been wiser, smarter… So much pain could have been prevented, including his own. Instead, he had been too foolish to anticipate the consequences of his actions. In his eagerness to bring justice and vengeance, he had brought doom upon all the world.

“I’m so sorry, my love.”

Lavellan stirred in his arms and pulled away far enough to look at him. Her green eyes were dark with tears. She sniveled and brushed them away hurriedly. 

“It’s not...your fault,” she said and cast a glance at the floor. When she spoke again, her voice was heavy with guilt and grief. “It was mine. Mine alone.”

“No,” he said without hesitation and cupped her face with one hand. He let his thumb brush against her skin, wiping away new tears that streamed down her cheek.

“Yes,” she objected. “It was I who made the final decision to rely on Duke Antoine for help. If I had listened to Leliana or Cullen… if I had…”

“You decided what you thought was best for your clan,” Solas insisted. “But more importantly, you did all you could. Even with the entirety of the Inquisition at your disposal, there is only so much one woman can do.”

 _Look who’s talking,_ a voice whispered from across the Veil.

 _Leave me with this,_ Solas shot back and felt a faint annoyance rising in his gut. _Just this once. You’ll get your due soon enough._

“I should have been there,” Lavellan said, shaking her head. If she had sensed the small distraction caused by the creature, she didn’t let it show. “I should have fought beside them when they needed me.”

“And where is the point in that, _vhenan_? You’d be dead, just like the rest of them,” Solas said.

“Right now, I wish I was.”

He drew in a sharp breath.

“You don’t mean that, _vhenan,_ ” he replied.

“And what if I do?” she asked grimly and pulled out of his embrace. She walked away a few paces, inhaling shakingly before she turned to him again. “I never wanted this.” She gestured towards the enormous room that served as her private quarters. The Inquisitor’s quarters. “I never wanted _any of this_. Even when I agreed to go to Haven for this cursed conclave, I did so at the behest of my keeper. All I wanted was to serve my clan. How can I do that while I’m here? _Fenehdis,_ many of those who flock here to meet the fabled ‘Herald of Andraste’ don’t even know that I’m an elf! They stare at me like I’m some gods-damned curiosity.” She shook her head. “No, my place is… was with my clan, my people.”

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Solas replied. “One hunter alone wouldn’t have made much of a difference in a fight against heavily armed bandits. Even you must see that. If you had been with them, your death would have come so swiftly as if one was snuffing out a candle. That is why you asked the duke for his help in the first place, was it not? Besides, what purpose would your death have served? The mark would have been lost and thus our only hope of closing the Breach. Staying with the Inquisition and calling for aid was the right choice to make.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, shaking her head once more. 

“You have no idea what it’s like, to lose everybody you loved,” she said in a choked voice.

Her sadness, deep and endless as the ocean, caught him like an arrow piercing his chest. It was hard and cold and vanquished his inner defenses effortlessly. It conjured images of days long gone, of pain and suffering in the hopes of building a better world.

He drew in a sharp breath, fists clenched.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said cooly.

“Ah, yes. Of course!” she snapped. “And how could I?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them able to speak. Even Solas was surprised at the sudden turn their conversation had taken.

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“You barely talk about your past,” Lavellan said and pointed at him, “except for the memories you found in some ancient ruin, that is. So how would I know about anything that happened to you before the conclave?”

Despite himself, Solas felt a wave of anger rise in him. At her. At himself. At the world at large. None of this was right. None of this was _fair_.

_Everything will be set right in time._

“Some days, I wonder if you’re not a construct of the Fade. Like an imaginary friend I made up so I won’t feel lost and alone among the _shemlen_ in Haven,” Lavellan went on in a choked voice. “And then I fear that you will, one day, simply vanish like all the other hopes and dreams I’ve had before.”

She was crying again. Streaks of tears shimmered on her cheeks. Solas wanted to reach for her once more, to hold her tightly and brush her tears away. And yet, he stood still, unable to overcome the pain he felt. Without knowing it, her words had struck him where he was most vulnerable. Her bitterness resembled his own, and he couldn’t bear to see his deepest emotion reflected like this. More than that, he couldn’t afford to tell her the reason for his own sadness. It would destroy any tender feelings she harbored for him.

“I…,” he began.

She waved him off. “Just go, Solas. Please.”


	6. Do Not Go Gently

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make things particularly hard for myself, I decided to continue on with Lavellan's POV. Oh my, I feel like there was something that I needed to get off my chest that ended up seeping into this chapter. _But_ I hope you enjoy the read. Things will get less and less grim from here-on out, promise! ♥︎

The moment the words had escaped her lips, she knew she had made a mistake. The stricken expression on Solas’s face was enough to drive a sharp jab of pain through her chest and make her regret her reaction in an instant.

“As you wish,” Solas said, careful to keep his tone polite. “I will trouble you no further.”

Before she found the courage to speak, he straightened his back, turned on his heel, and made his way back to the stairs. There, he stopped and looked at her one last time with furrowed brows. His storm-grey eyes, flecked with purple, were dark with hurt and concern and… something else. Her inability to interpret his behavior, his expressions, had never unnerved her more.

Then Solas left. His steps were barely audible over the rush of blood in Lavellan’s ears. _What are you doing?_ she asked herself over and over again, hoping the thought would prompt her body to do something. But in the end, she just stood there, paralyzed, lost for words, and watched him go.

When she heard the metallic clang of the door when Solas closed it behind himself, it felt like something was breaking inside her. She sank to her knees, hands covering her mouth, and tried to hold back the wailing sound that was about to escape her. The world was lost behind a veil of tears as a new surge of pain raced through her. It clawed at her heart and tore away from her soul, her very being.

A whimper emerged from her throat that turned into a long cry. She bent forward, strands of her falling from her braid, until her face almost touch the carpet beneath her. It smelled of old age, but she didn’t care. There was only the pounding of her own heart and the soft tickle of tears as they fell from her face. She clawed at the old dusty fabric beneath her, letting the pain of losing everything she loved take over, and cried.

Watching Solas leave... It reminded her too much of another man she had once loved. Another man who was forever beyond her reach, now that he had given his life along-side the rest of his clan. He hadn't been the first to lose it because of her bad judgment of a situation. And he might not be the last.

_Please forgive me,_ she thought. _It was all my fault._

She thought of the red sails of aravels swaying in the warm summer wind. She thought of the halla locked up in their pen while Cindar, the caretaker, prepared their food and told them stories of Arlathan. In her mind, she saw Keeper Deshanna, old and wise Deshanna, gathering the children around the campfire to teach them the Vir Tanadhal, the Way of Three Trees. While she talked, the older members of the clan drew closer to the fire to listen to the old woman’s words as well. How often had she been among them, listening carefully to Deshanna’s tales to keep them memorized? How often had she sat around that fire, watching its warm glow dance on the faces of her family?

She remembered Erendir putting on his hunting gear for the first time. He had been glowing with pride, eager to deem himself worthy of the vallaslin. Together, they had trained with bow and arrow to become the most skilled hunters in the clan. It had been hard years for Clan Lavellan, but their predicament had only strengthened their resolve. Whenever she had missed a shot or one of her traps had failed, Erendir had been there to encourage her. And then, one day, when they had barely reached adulthood, he had brought her to a lake in the forest and confessed his love with fidgeting fingers, shuffling on his feet like a little boy. She had never seen him this nervous before. She had cupped his cheeks and showered his face with kisses, tracing the newly drawn lines of Andruil’s blood writing on his face. They had been so young back then, it might as well have happened in a different life.

After her father’s death, Erendir and the other had been her lifeline. They had given her something to hold onto when nothing had made sense anymore. But he had left her inevitably, too.

_They can’t be gone. They just… can’t..._

Sometimes, her life felt like a never-ending circle of hope and anguish. Whenever she dared to dream of a brighter future, some calamity came along to crush it. Her father had given his life after saving her from a poisoned arrow. It had been her fault that she had lost Erendir in the end. And now she seemed eager to lose Solas, too.

_Irileth was right,_ she thought bitterly as new tears pooled in her eyes. _I bring misery wherever I go._

“Her judgment was clouded by pain and partiality, as is yours.”

The voice was soft and delicate, but it made her jolt upright regardless. Unwillingly, she raised her hands and braced herself for a fight. Only then did she recognize the slender figure sitting on the edge of her bed. 

“Cole,” she breathed, her voice still hoarse from crying. “Creators, you scared the wits out of me! What are you doing here?”

“You’re always burning too brightly,” he said without further explanation, casting a glance to the floor to avoid her gaze. “Today your light smoothers all the others. The mark makes the anguish tremendous and too terrible to imagine. It called me. It will call the others, too. Spirits. Demons. The light burns, beckons, begs them to come. Soon they will push against the Veil, peeking through to see this side.”

Cole’s face was half-obscured by the large brim of his hat, but the suppressed pain in his voice was enough to make her stir. She looked at her left hand where a line of green light shone beneath the skin. The anchor had been calm since Haven, barely bothering her. With no magical talent of her own, she sometimes forgot the considerable force that was the Fade. Solas had taught her that every action, every _thought_ , could lead to devastating effects. 

Lavellan huffed a sad half-laugh, releasing the tension in her arms as she did so. She cowered on the floor and brushed away the wet streaks on her face.

“I’m sorry, Cole,” she said. “I haven’t considered the effects on the Fade. I was… not myself.” 

She cast a quick glance around, trying to imaging the wavering barrier between this world and the realm of dreams. Of course, the Veil was invisible to the naked eye. Only the rifts she had been fighting since the explosion at the Conclave were a testimony to its existence for non-mages like her. But whether or not she could feel the Veil, she knew all too well that it was nothing to be tempered with. She had learned that soon enough after she had awoken in a dark and damp cell with a glowing mark on her hand.

Was Skyhold in danger? The old castle had been built upon some sort of magical vortex, hadn’t it? Would her grief, amplified by the power of the mark, rip open the Veil and allow demons and other nightmare creatures to slip through?

“No,” Cole replied calmly. “Not if I can help it.”

Lavellan didn’t even consider asking how he had known her thoughts. The young man certainly had his very own way of perceiving the world and even despite his claims that he couldn’t peer into her mind, he more often than not seemed to follow her trail of thoughts with baffling precision. He was the first person she had ever met who had bested her at it.

She cleared her throat, reigning in her emotions. She had already driven Solas away. Cole appearing to help her was a second chance she was willing to take. The young man exerted a rare kindness that never failed to touch her heart. She couldn’t be cruel to him, even if she wanted to.

“Solas was right, you know,” Cole continued carefully. “Your death would have been devastating, but not a difference. Deep down, you know.”

Absentmindedly, she massaged the mark on her left hand with the thumb of her right. It caused a small influx of physical pain, but she didn’t mind. The pang reminded her that she was still alive, blood running in her veins.

“I know,” she admitted and sniveled. “He was trying to be helpful… I wanted to… I don’t know...” Her words trailed off. She let go of her hand and stood, straightening her clothes as she did so. “I don’t understand him sometimes. In Halamshiral, I felt so close to him. Like I really knew him. Then again, he retreats into himself and keeps his distance. It’s… frightening, in a way.”

“His heart is hardened from hardship,” Cole replied, “but he tries to be tender, truthful. For you. And for himself, sometimes.”

A bitter taste blossomed on Lavellan’s tongue. She often wondered why Solas hated the Dalish so much. The feeling was too strong to be purely based on biases. Humans glared at her and called “knife-ear” more out of habit than any real resentment and they often forgot about it as soon as they returned to their duties. Solas, on the other hand, had this hard look on his face whenever she tried to talk to him about the Dalish as if her words tore open an old wound that had never truly healed.

From Leliana’s reports, she knew that Solas had grown up in a small village in the North, but when she had asked him about it, he had dodged the question and redirected her attention at some immediate matter.

Had he been born among a Dalish clan but cast out as soon as his magic had manifested? It was a questionable practice, but not an uncommon one among the Dalish. Each clan could only support a small number of mages to protect the rest from demons and abominations. And with his gift as a dreamer, Solas would have been more than a mere mage. Even an experienced keeper might have been terrified of him. If he had been cast out by his own clan, it would explain why he had spent his youth wandering and relying on spirits to teach him. It was the best explanation she could come up with why he carried so much resentment for the people she loved. 

Still, something about the story seemed off, mostly because she believed that Solas wouldn’t want to rejoin the Dalish after such an experience. And yet, he had told her that he had crossed paths with numerous clans in the past and had tried to share his knowledge with them without much success. The clans he had come about had chased him off or even attacked him before giving him much of a chance.

Would Keeper Deshanna have eyed Solas with the same suspicion, had he met the Lavellan clan on his travels? Or would she have order Lavellan and the other hunters to chase him off like a stray wolf?

The thought alone was agonizing. She herself, nocking an arrow, chasing him through the woods, the rest of the hunting party close behind. They would curse him – _“Dread Wolf take you!”_ – and they would mean it. They might have, had they ever met him.

Pain blossomed in her chest and she felt new tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. It was all idle thought. Deshanna, Erendir, none of the clan members would ever get to meet Solas. No amount of fantasizing would make that happen.

“I made it worse!” Cole exclaimed and came towards her, hands raised in an apology. 

“It’s quite alright,” she said hoarsely, forcing herself to smile at the young man. “I alone am responsible for my actions. That includes whatever I said or did to Solas.” She shook her head. “I took my anger and pain out on him. I should have brought this up any other time.”

“You wanted to be sure he wouldn’t leave you, too.”

“Yes,” she said bitterly. Another wave of guilt washed over her, clawing at her heart. She gulped to ward off the knot tightening in her throat, unsuccessfully. “Curious how we always manage to bring about the things we fear the most, isn’t it? First I pushed him too hard, then I pushed him away altogether. All those little self-fulfilling prophecies… ”

“He will understand if you tell him how you feel,” Cole said. “He might not want to, at first, but he will. He can’t help himself.” With that, the young man’s voice shifted into a hushed whisper as if listening to a song that only he could hear. “ _She is sensitive, soft, spirited in her way. Serenity and salvation mixed in a peculiar singularity._..”

Lavellan blinked at him, taken aback by his words. It reminded her of what Solas had said to her on that balcony. He had wondered if the mark had changed her morals or spirit, for better or worse. She had told him no and he had looked away with a concerned look on his face, as he so often did. At that moment, all she had wanted to do was wipe away that frown with a hug and a kiss. It was the first time she had wanted to tell him that she loved him. But she, too, had held something back that day. 

“You both keep secrets,” Cole confirmed, returning to his usual calm demeanor. “They are what keep you apart. The two of you have much more in common than you think.”

For the first time since what felt like forever, she laughed. Not fully, but it was enough. She brushed away the tears once more and resisted the urge to pull Cole into an embrace. The young man tended to keep to himself, so she wasn’t sure how he would react to such intimacy. 

“Well,” she mumbled and tried to smile encouragingly at Cole. “And what do you think I should do? I’m open to new ideas.”

Cole wrung his hand nervously as he so often did.

“The pain is most prevalent,” he explained. “We must calm it first to keep you safe, and the others. The calm will not cure you, but it will help.”

Lavellan nodded, looking at the mark on her hand once more.

“I agree.”

“They did not go gently,” Cole whispered, his blue eyes wide. He didn’t need to say the names of her clan members for Lavellan to know that he was talking about them. “I wish I could make you forget, but you’d be forced to relive the moment of mortification. You have to endure and learn to live with the loss. I’m sorry.”

She gifted him with another wry smile. “As I said, it’s quite alright, Cole.”

He didn’t seem to listen. His attention had already turned inward again, undoubtedly listening to the continuous hum of the Fade. “There is something here,” he said, thinking to himself. Then, suddenly, he began to look around curiously like a tiny mammal coming out of its cave after months of hibernation. Hastily, he turned his awareness this way and that until his gaze settled on the letter of Duke Antoine. The scroll still sat on the drawer where Solas had placed it.

“The pain is tied to the letter that reached you somehow,” he said. “It conjures the clan back to life and rips it from reality, again and again, every time you read it. We should get rid of it.”

Before Lavellan could add anything, Cole snatched it and stared at the letter for a moment. “Hm,” he murmured.

“What is it?”

“There’s treachery on the page,” he said, regarding the scroll inquisitively. He turned it in his hand, studied the seal, then brought the paper up to his nose to sniff it. “It leaves a trace in the Fade… I don’t know what it means…”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” she said. “As you said, my… condition is making it hard to read emotions properly.”

“Right.” 

The word hung in the air like the toll of a bell. Understanding shone in Cole’s bright eyes. Then he turned and came over to hand Lavellan the scroll. “Their loss burns brightly in you,” he said as he held out the scroll to her. “Burning this will give it a shape, make it real. It might fade like dying embers in the end. A tiny bit, at least.”

She took the scroll and made sure not to open it by accident, to avoid reading any of the immaculate writing on the paper again. Cole was right. The reality of the clan’s death was painful enough. The memory would stay with her forever. She was sure of this. Keeping this message was only a way to torture herself more. _And I’m fairly good at torturing myself as is,_ she thought.

She walked over to the fire. Someone had come up to rekindle the flames while she had been downstairs eating breakfast with the others. _It seems so long ago already,_ she mused. For the first time since Cole had appeared, she noticed how drained she felt. She was so tired as if ages seemed to have passed since Josephine had handed her that cursed letter.

Slowly, she bent down to allow the flames to lick at the edges of the paper. The crumpled paper crackled and rustled as it resisted the heat, but it didn’t last long. Soon enough, a trail of fire traced the sides of the paper and burned it all away. The wax seal molt, dripping onto sizzling embers. Her heartbeat quicked as she watched the fire eat away the message, and her lips went dry. She imagined the names of every member of her clan being burned into her soul as the letter burned to a crisp. Deshanna, Erendir, Almaril, Cindar… even Irileth.

_I will never forget you. Any of you._

Neither Lavellan nor Cole spoke as the flame consumed the letter. When only a slim piece was left, she tossed it into the hearth fire. 

“Do you feel better?” Cole asked.

“You tell me,” she replied. “Because I have no idea.”

“The pain is still there, but subtler, smoother, somewhat silenced. I can still feel it humming through the mark, hurtful and hollow, but i’s not as closely connected anymore.” He paused. “Do you feel tired?”

“Endlessly,” she said with a sigh. 

“Then sleep might do the rest,” Cole suggested. “It’s not like forgetting, but it’s the next best thing. I can help you find your way if you want.”

“That would be lovely.”

Cole remained silent while she slipped out of her boots and tossed them into a corner. On her way to the bed, she removed the scarf and vest she had put on that morning and let both of them fall to the ground carelessly. She toyed with the idea of getting back into her nightgown before slipping under the covers, but she abandoned that idea quickly. Even pulling the blouse over her head felt too daunting a task by this point.

“Could you please tell the others that I don’t want to be disturbed?” she asked. “I don’t think I’m ready to handle their pity just yet. And Josephine. Tell her that she shouldn’t blame herself. Could you do that for me?”

Cole remained silent for a long moment.

“I can,” he said. “I mean, I will.”

“Thank you.”

He waited patiently for her to lay down and make herself comfortable in the large bed. Only when she had closed her eyes and stopped to move, he lay a hand on her forehead and whispered something she could quite catch. An incantation perhaps. All she noticed was a slight tear in her hand where the mark was, but it faded quickly. 

“Dream well,” Cole said.

And with that, he disappeared.

Not long after, she fell asleep and dreamt of the wide plains and golden forest of the Free Marches. In that dream, the world felt like an endless wonder waiting to be explored. She saw herself discovering the ruins of a fallen empire. The stones whispered kindly to her and told her stories that filled her with awe. For a moment, she felt like a child, unburdened by the weight of the world. And when she stepped out of the ruins, she felt like a halla, running wild and free, towards a future that would never come to pass.


	7. Peace Between The Pages

“Lavellan still not seeing anyone?” 

Varric’s voice carried an undertone of authentic worry that Dorian had never heard him use before. The dwarf set aside the jug of ale that had been half-way to his lips and turned in his seat to look at Cassandra.

The seeker looked as concerned as Varric sounded. The furrow between her eyebrows was deeper than usual and the lines around her mouth particularly tight. She pulled one of the chairs towards her and sat down with a disgruntled sound.

“That bad?” Varric asked.

Cassandra crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at the dwarf. “You have no idea.”

“Looks you need one of those, too,” Sera suggested, waved about her empty mug and made a move to get her companion a drink before Cassandra even got the chance to say yes. She whistled a tune that seemed somewhat familiar to Dorian, but he couldn’t quite place where he might have heard it before. Their thieving companion was rather cheerful given the circumstances. But then again, she and Lavellan hadn’t been getting along all too well.

“Josephine and I tried to talk her into letting us into her chamber to bring her some leftovers from dinner, but she wouldn’t even respond,” Cassandra explained as she watched Sera disappear into the crowd that had gathered in Skyhold’s tavern that night. “It’s like she doesn’t want to come out of her quarters ever again.”

Varric scoffed. “I can hardly blame her. Life’s been throwing shit at her since she set foot into the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Some days, I’m surprised she didn’t break down sooner.”

Cassandra glared at Varric again. Dorian could tell that she found his words somewhat blasphemous. After everything that had happened to herself and the Order of Seekers, after the loss of her beloved Divine Justinia, she had to believe in Lavellan as a higher power. The entire Inquisition relied on the elven woman’s strength and resolve.

“I can hardly argue with that,” Cassandra said at last.

Varric raised his jug of ale in a toast.

“Have faith, Seeker,” he said. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? She came back after Haven when nobody thought she would. She will come down from that tower, too. Just give her some time and leave her be, as requested.”

Dorian leaned back in his own chair and took a swig from his cup of wine. Or vinegar, as they would say in Tevinter. The drink was sour to such an extent that it was best used as a cleaning agent. Skyhold‘s steward really was a sadistic man in his own right.

Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to make of the whole situation. Truth be told, he empathized with Cassandra’s feelings more than he’d liked to admit. After everything that he had transpired since he had joined the Inquisition, having witnessed Lavellan’s immediate reaction to the letter that – as he now knew – had carried the message of the destruction of her entire clan, had disturbed him. And if there was one thing he’d never been before coming to the South, it was disturbed. Sure, the blood rituals performed in his homeland along with the slew of atrocities committed by magisters, mages, and common criminals had often instilled a feeling of revulsion in him, but not like this. Never like this.

From the very moment the woman who'd had become Inquisitor had stepped into that little Chantry in Redcliffe to meet with him and Felix, Dorian had known that there was something different about her. It hadn’t just been the fact that she was an elf walking with a decidedly human Inquisition or the cultural clash of her wearing Dalish blood writing while those around her referred to her as the Herald of Andraste. There had been something in her eyes that had made it abundantly clear to him that she saw the world and the people in it differently. 

Including him.

Why else did she take the time to help him personally? She could just as easily have ordered a group of soldiers to accompany him to Redcliffe after his father’s letter had arrived. It felt so bizarre that Dorian could hardly believe it to be true. But Lavellan had been there with him in Redcliffe to meet the retainer of the Pavus family that had turned out to be his father. Without judgment or reproach.

Dorian wondered how she did it, considering the fact that most humans didn’t treat her or her people with much kindness. He certainly had felt inclined to kick a few people in the chest after he'd had a taste of the famous Fereldan manners himself. People had turned up their noses and muttered behind his back ever since he’d left the ship that had brought him to the South. The Inquisition blacksmith had spat when Dorian had set up shop in the cozy little cabin next to his workshop in Haven. It had given him an idea of how life might feel like from an elf. In Tevinter, most of them were overlooked. Here, gloomy stares and curses followed them wherever they went. Unless they happened to become the fabled Herald of Andraste by accident, of course.

 _She must be lonely,_ he thought, forcing down another sip of the wine.

When Sera returned she carried two jugs of freshly poured ale and a wooden plate laden with cheese, sausages, and something that Dorian could best describe as breadsticks. She set one of the jugs and the plate in front of Cassandra, then climbed nimbly across the table to reach her seat again. 

“Watch it, Buttercup!” Varric exclaimed when Sera nearly knocked the ale jug from his hand when sprawling on a chair and kicking up her heels right next to him.

“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be such a dry shite!”

“Of all the swearwords in the world, that’s the one you’re going for?” Varric asked with a mischievous grin. “Seriously, Buttercup?”

“You with the words again,” Sera said with an exasperated sigh. “Can’t you just shut it up?”

“What she said,” Cassandra chimed in and the two women toasted at each other.

“Such a lovely display of camaraderie,” Dorian said and raised his glass as well. “I might burst into tears at any minute.”

“Come now, Sparkler!” Varric said. “Not you, too.”

Dorian allowed himself a wry little smile as he downed more of his wine. Maker’s breath, it really tasted awful. Well, as long as it got him properly drunk, he’d take it. Nursing a bottle of sour wine was better than not nursing one at all.

The wine. Another thing he missed about Tevinter. Not to mention the riches and splendor that could be found at any given street corner. At the Winter Palace, he’d been reminded how much he loved it. Of course, he’d not told anyone about how truly homesick he’d felt on the ride back to Skyhold, although he suspected that Lavellan had caught up on the notion. Maybe he should take her up on that offer to share the Orlesian brandy she had been gifted once she was ready to face the world again. 

“Anyone up for a game of Wicked Grace?” Varric asked with a grand gesture and waved about with his mug.

“Isn’t that a bit inappropriate,” Cassandra asked, eyeing the dwarf suspiciously, “given that our Inquisitor is in dire straits? We should show some respect and compassion.”

“True!” Varric admitted with a raised finger. “But us sitting on our butts and wallowing in pity for her won’t make things better. A game of cards will help pass the time while we wait for her to process.”

Cassandra pressed her lips into a straight line. After a moment, she let out a deep sigh and shrugged. “Very well.”

“I’m in, too,” Sera said and slammed her mug on the table. A splash of ale slopped over the edge and stained the old wooden table. 

“Count me out,” Dorian said and emptied his glass. 

“What’s wrong, Sparkler?” Varric regarded him curiously. “You’re always up for a game of Wicked Grace!”

“I’m afraid, I’m still licking my wounds from the last time.”

Varric grinned at him. “Then this might be your chance to win back your pride and dignity.”

“Maybe, but my pride and dignity will have to wait,” Dorian replied and stood. “I wish you all a good night.”

The air outside carried an icy chill that seemed to seep through Dorian’s clothing and right into his skin. He shuddered and steeled himself against the cold, his breath a puff of mist rising from his lips. With a quick glance, he assured himself that apart from the few brave souls holding up in the tavern, most of the people in Skyhold had gone to bed. The windows on the barracks and the newly renovated mage tower were dark. There was no humming and hammering from the armory, either, no heavy panting of soldiers training and sparing in the designated areas in the courtyard.

He let his eyes wander along the battlements and ruin towers that marked the outer defense of Skyhold until he reached the main building. Only a few windows were lit with the dim light of candles. It seemed that most of the Inquisitor’s companions and advisor had retreated for the night as well, perhaps pondering the recent events like he was.

Before he knew it, Dorian’s gaze fell on the upper levels of the tower where the Inquisitor’s quarters were. He had never been up there but he’d heard that Ambassador Montilyet had done all within her power to make the rooms suitable for the fabled Herald of Andraste. That undoubtedly meant dusty carpets and velvet hangings to keep the chilly breeze from whistling through the gaps in the stone. Maybe a nice hearth to keep a fire going, too.

Dorian wondered what Lavellan was doing up there in her tower, all alone. It had been three days since anyone had seen her. From what he’d gathered, Lavellan was the sort of person who actually enjoyed the hustle and bustle of everyday work. A remnant of her Dalish upbringing, probably. He understood that among her kind, none of the clan members had any private life to speak of. Everything they did was out in the open and shared with everyone. Dorian could hardly imagine what life must have been like for Lavellan before she came to Haven. He certainly preferred being to himself most of the time. 

_Best not to dwell on it,_ Dorian reminded himself as another gust of wind rustled through his robes and rumpled his hair. 

He crossed Skyhold’s upper courtyard with long strides and made his way to the large stone staircase that led up to the castle’s main hall. He had almost reached the landing at the end of the first flight of stairs when the double doors to the hall opened and two figures slipped out into the darkness. One of them was Fiona, the former Grand Enchanter and self-declared leader of the mage rebellion. And beside her a man Dorian had revered for the better part of his youth. 

Dorian paused, mouth agape in shock. Gereon Alexius wore his grey hair short as usual, but apart from that, not much was left of the man Dorian had once known. After Lavellan had committed the old magister to work for the rebel mages, he had been forced to swap his intricate Venatori robes for an unassuming cloak in earthy tones. Even in the dark, Dorian could see the shadows beneath his former mentor’s eyes and the wrinkles around his mouth seemed to have deepened after his defeat at Redcliffe. The sight infused Dorian with a sense of dread that he could have gladly done without.

 _Why are you like this?_ Dorian asked himself when he felt his heart race. Suddenly, his skin felt warm and sweaty despite the cold and he had to resist the urge to wipe his hands on his robes.

Truth was that he’d been avoiding meeting with his old mentor ever since the Inquisition had taken Alexius into custody. He hadn’t even dared to attend the official ceremony during which Lavellan had passed her judgment. There was too much hurt, too much remorse involved. Not that Dorian felt sorry for having stopped Alexius’s misguided plans for the Venatori. He wasn’t sorry about that at all. What he did regret though was what had happened to the magister. His folly was a reminder that even the best of Tevinter’s elite could be corrupted with ease if only the prize was right.

“Good evening, Dorian,” Alexius said when his eyes fell upon his former student. Going by the deep frown on the magister’s face, he was as troubled by their chance encounter as Dorian was. 

“Evening, Alexius,” Dorian replied stiffly, then forced himself to look at Fiona. “To you too, Grand Enchanter.”

The elven woman raised both eyebrows at Dorian. “Good evening,” she said reluctantly. If she picked up on the conflict between the old magister and his former student, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she turned to Alexius and whispered: “It’s late. We should get going.”

“Yes,” Alexius agreed absent-mindedly.

The two of them started to descend the stairs. Fiona carried herself with confidence, a result of the pact she had secured with the Inquisition on behalf of the rebel mages. Alexius, on the other hand, hung his head low and kept his eyes on the ground.

As soon as they reached the landing, Dorian found the willpower to get moving, too. Without looking at either Alexius or Fiona or addressing them with another word, he stormed up the stairs to the main hall and slammed the doors shut behind him. There he paused once more and let out a longwinded curse. 

How had it come to this? He and Alexius had walked past each other as if they had never been more than faint acquaintances. Dorian wasn’t sure whether or not he should be fuming with anger or not. For years, he had tried to talk Alexius out of the idea of finding a cure for his son’s sickness. And for years, his concerns and objections had fallen on deaf ears. In the end, Dorian had gone to find his own way and leave Alexius to his own devices. He’d tried to persuade himself that it had been for the better and that there was nothing to be done about either Felix’s condition or Alexius’s stubbornness. But it had been his unwillingness to let the matter rest that had brought him to Redcliffe. It had led him to Lavellan and the merry band of soldiers known as the Inquisition.

It had changed him forever. He knew that now. Once Corypheus was defeated – if he was defeated – Dorian’s life would never be the same.

And still, all the worries, all the effort… it had been all for nothing. Now, Alexius was nothing but a shadow of his former self. And he, Dorian, scion of House Pavus, had no idea what to do with himself.

There was only one thing Dorian was sure about: sleep wouldn’t come easy that night. Brief as the encounter with Alexius had been, it had stirred up too many unpleasant feelings. For a moment, he pondered with the idea of going back to the tavern and ordering another glass of that dish soap the steward was trying to pass as wine, but he wasn’t in the mood for company. And so made his way up to the library.

There was something about the smell of old paper that soothed him, maybe because it reminded him of all the times he had explored the Circle libraries to uncover new and fascinating knowledge. The promise of deeper understanding always had had an allure that he never been able to describe to anyone, least of all his fellow students. Some of them had outrighted despised him for his natural talent to absorb the contents of any given book as long as the topic was of interest to him. There were entire worlds hidden away between the pages and Dorian had always enjoyed diving into them. It had been his chance to detach himself from the real world where the expectations of his family bore down on him like a cloak made of lead.

With a twist of his hand and a bit of magic, Dorian lit one of the candles and quickly skimmed the backs of the leather-bound books on the shelves. They were still in disarray, despite his best efforts to catalog and rearrange them in alphabetical order. And yet, it felt good to let his fingers brush over the golden letters imbued on the backs.

 _There must be something here that is not just Chantry nonsense,_ he told himself as he studied the titles. He was looking for a light read, anything to set his mind at ease after the encounter with Alexius.

Dorian was still wandering along the shelves, looking for a book that would fit his needs, when he heard the rustle of paper nearby. Alarmed by the noise, he straightened his back and looked around. _It must have come from there,_ Dorian thought and eyed the small alcove near the stairs that he had declared a sort of reading corner for himself.

“Hello?” he asked and walked back, the candle raised to help him see in the dark. When he reached the nook, he found nothing but the trusty old chair, a working desk and a candelabra made of silverite. A few of the notes Dorian had taken lay scattered on the desk. He frowned. Hadn’t he tugged them all away safely before the ball in Halamshiral?

Carefully, he set aside the candle on the desk and started rummaging through the notes. Some included magical calculations, others were ideas or note-worthy information he had come across in one of the books. All in all, it was nothing of interest for anyone but himself and it didn’t look like anyone had made alterations to his writing. Why then had the notes been pulled from the folder Dorian used to keep them in?

It wasn’t until he had picked up the very last piece of paper until he came across the message. It was written on a slip of paper torn from one of his notes. The handwriting was thin and spidery, like that of a child. Dorian’s brows knit into a furrow as he tried to determine who’s writing it was but no name came to mind.

He picked up the paper slip and brought it closer to the flame of the candle to make reading it easier. It was a short message, only two sentences long. And yet they filled him with a sense of dark foreboding that was in no hurry to go away.

_“Stay here. She will need you.”_


	8. In Dark and Dreaming Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware: Fade shenanigans incoming. This chapter’s also somewhat smutty, so please tread carefully. Happy reading! :)

Lavellan woke to the feeling of a halla licking her face. The white creature was brushing its tongue gingerly over her chin and nose, the rough texture tickling her skin. When she didn’t move, the halla nuzzled her cheek and slowly pushed her face to one side.

 _I’ve missed you,_ it seemed to say. _Where have you been?_

She chuckled and opened her eyes. Golden sunlight obscured her vision for a moment, but then she spotted the halla standing over her and watching her like a silent guardian. Its white fur was pristine beyond imagination and its dark eyes deep as endless wells. The creature looked at her lovingly and she felt a tender warmth blossom in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said and rubbed the corners of her eyes to wipe away the dizziness that still lingered in her mind. “I must have fallen asleep without realizing it,” she mumbled. “I was so tired.”

Lavellan pushed herself up on one elbow and reached out to pat the halla’s sleek nose. The creature let out a soft whimper and pressed its snout against the palm of her hand, nuzzling it gleefully. 

_You’re awake!_

She laughed and planted a tender kiss on the bridge of the halla’s nose. The creature smelled of dried grass, burnished leather, and love. It smelled of home.

“I guess I am,” she said with a smile and looked around.

She had fallen asleep in the middle of a hilly meadow that spread out as far as the eye could see. Every slope was covered with yellow grass and blooming flowers of red and orange that swayed gently in the warm summer wind. An entire herd of halla was grazing across the meadow, their white hides gleaming so intensely in the bright sunlight they seemed almost golden. In the distance, she could make out the vague shape of an old elven fortress towering over the land. Vines had climbed along the sides of the building, decking the old stones like an organic mosaic.

And then she saw the red sails of aravels. More than a dozen wagons had set up camp near the old fortress. It was a divine sight that filled her with a serenity that she hadn’t felt since… since…

Lavellan patted the halla’s head one last time and got to her feet. She was dressed in a white blouse that was loose around the arms and shoulders, but tight at the waist, along with sleek black leggings. Her feet were bare except for the flexible wrappings around her ankles. She smiled as she wiggled her toes, relishing the feeling of the lush grass beneath her feet. Then she opened a few buttons on her blouse to expose more of her chest and let the sun warm her skin.

When was the last time she had been sunbathing? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t care either. All that matter was the joy of the moment and the feeling of safety and security that reverberated through her body.

 _“Elgara vallas, da'len,"_ she hummed, _“melava somniar."_

Her father had sung the old elven lullaby to her when she had still been a child. While he sang, she had always hoped to find herself in the Fade to walk in the dreams of old and pretend that she could be more than she was. That she could command to forces of nature as her mother had. There, she had finally been close to making amends for the loss of Athenais’s life.

Of course, the feeling of perfection had always eluded her with the morrow. But she wouldn’t allow the world to take away that precious gift she had been bestowed. Not this time. She would hold on to it, hold it close to her heart, for as long as she could.

The halla next to her tiptoed on its delicate hooves. With a soft bleat, the creature sprung up and rushed across the meadow toward the rest of the herd. Lavellan smiled as she watched it run, then burst into a sprint herself to catch up with the creature. For a while, they ran side by side towards the camp, and it all felt so easy and effortless. 

The other halla looked their way when Lavellan and her companion raced up the shallow slope of the hill and joined the largest bulk of the herd. They sniffed the air and wiggled their ears, regarding the newcomers with mild interest. Lavellan smiled at them and wished she could hug them all. Her heart was so full of joy that she thought it might burst.

Lavellan took a moment to catch her breath, then made her way further up to the crest of the hill, her eyes fixed on the Dalish camp. Now that she was closer, she could see the white smoke of fires rising between the aravels. Figures dressed in leather armor or linen clothing walked between the aravels. The elves were talking to each other without a care in the world. Maybe the hunters had brought home a good kill or the keeper had decided to sacrifice one of the older halla to celebrate. Because, for the Dalish, every day without struggle and hardship was a day to be cherished.

Soon, she reached a wolf statue that had been placed a few dozen yards outside the camp. The wolf sat on its haunches, its stone face twisted into a grimace that looked over the plain. Lavellan paused and let her fingers wander along the carved lines of the wolf’s face. Fen’Harel, the Great Wolf, was keeping watch tonight, so no evil spirits could come and harm the clan. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

“It’s good to see you like this.”

Solas’s voice floated across the grassland like a soft breeze and dripped into her ear like honey. She turned to look for him, still smiling like a child.

And there he was, standing a hundred feet away on the slope of another hill. He wore his usual homespun clothing – dark green leggings and beige tunic, with tight green wrappings to guard his feet and calves. Only the silverite staff he used as a conduit for his magic was missing. A soft smile was tugging at his lips as he walked across the meadow to meet her.

“Solas!” she exclaimed and ran towards him without thinking twice. Her heart began thundering in her chest, as much from exertion as from excitement. The smile on his face widened and he stretched out his arms to welcome her. She sunk into his embrace readily and leaned her face against his shoulder. His body was surprisingly cool, much more than her own, but she didn’t mind. He was here, with her, and that was all that really mattered.

Still, a faint memory bubbled to the surface of her conscience. Harsh words that had been spoken in anger. An icy expression on his face as he left her quarters. Had that really happened? Or had just been another dream fading to black?

Lavellan lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. The sight of him made her heart ache. 

“I missed you,” she said hoarsely.

Solas’s eyes narrowed and he leaned in to press his forehead against hers. She took in the familiar scent of his skin and let the sound of his steady breathing calm her. A deep sigh. Then a nudge of the nose, and a shy kiss. He let it happen. Lavellan kissed him again and let her lips trail along the line of his jaw, nibbling at it like some rare delicacy. To her delight, she felt him shudder when she reached his neck and showered it with tender kisses. His grip around her waist tightened.

“I felt like you were never coming back,” she whispered.

Solas let out a soft chuckle. “And why would I do that?”

She halted and looked at him again. His lips were split in a wide smile, his throat bobbing as he laughed.

Oh, Creators, how she loved it when he laughed!

Before she knew it, she had drawn him into a more passionate kiss, both her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Solas chuckled against her lips, delighted by her eagerness, and he responded to the fire of her kiss with his own. She felt his hands on her back as his lips parted and his tongue reached for hers. Heat rose inside her, amplified by his trailing fingers on her body, as his deep, rich taste filled her mouth.

“Don‘t leave again,” she breathed, pausing between their kisses just long enough to get the words out. “Not now. Not ever...”

Solas sealed her lips with another kiss before she could finish her sentence. “Let’s not speak of this,” he whispered and caressed her cheek with one hand. 

And then she no longer cared. She didn’t care what had happened between them. She didn’t care where they were or where they would go after this. She didn’t even mind that the clan was waiting for her return. All she wanted was to make love to him until, in their shared ecstasy, all the worries in the world had melted away.

His fingers wandered along her neck until they reached her collarbone. And there they lingered, slightly trembling as if he was unsure how far he could go. She saw him close his eyes, taking in the taste of their shared breath before he allowed his fingers to trail on and push open another button. 

A wave of excitement washed over her when he kissed her again, his hand slipping beneath the brim of her blouse and finding her breast. It was a delicate gesture, but it aroused her all the same. Slowly, ever so slowly, he explored her further and stroked her nibble with his thumb until it grew hard and goosebumps erupted on her skin. A husky moan fell from her lips before she could hold it back.

Solas smiled at the sound, then bent down to kiss her neck. His lips were warm and soft against her skin. “I want you,” she heard him mutter. “All of you.”

For a moment, it felt like she was drowning in bliss. She had waited so long for him to open up to her and cross that final barrier. Now that he was here, in her arms, the love she felt for him was almost too much to comprehend. It was all she had ever wanted and more. So much more...

“Is this the Fade?” she asked with a teasing smile. “I’ve never seen you so at ease before.”

She expected him to present her with a witty comeback as he often did when he was in a flirtatious mood. To her surprise, he twitched and straightened his back. When their eyes met again, his brows were knit in a furrow. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Lavellan blinked, perplexed by the sudden change in his behavior. 

“You said that things were easier for you in the Fade,” she said, pushing herself away by an arm’s length to look at him. “Don’t you remember? We talked about it in that dream you made. The one in Haven?”

And then she knew.

This was a dream. It was all a dream. The kisses, the halla, the meadow. Even the eternal blue sky above. It was all a construct, designed to entice her and keep her from waking.

She knew because it had been Solas who had, after their shared dream, told her about the devastating consequences an open display of emotions in the Fade could have. “Emotions draw the attention of spirits just as easily as a flame draws that of a moth, and not all spirits are desirable to keep as a company,” he’d said. And with a sly smile, he had added. “But I guess I need not tell you that.”

Lavellan let out a sad laugh. She should have known that this was too good to be true. When that faint memory of her fight with Solas had come to mind, it had been a warning that none of this was real. And still, she had pushed it aside and ignored it. Instead, she had succumbed to her desire readily like some damned fool.

 _Turns out I’m just a woman, after all,_ she thought. 

She pulled out of his embrace, pushing him away as she went. “No,” she mumbled. “Oh no, don’t.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

When Solas reached for her wrist, her instincts kicked back in and she swatted his hand away. 

“Don’t touch me!”

His eyes were eerily calm for a man who had just been denied a passionate union, but his posture shifted until he looked more like a large predator looming over its prey than a man waiting to be with the woman he loved.

“Is this not what you want?” he asked with a menacing smile. “To feel me inside you?”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she covered herself and closed the buttons of her blouse again. Whether this was a dream or not, she felt inevitably drawn to him. The scent of his skin was enough to make her breath catch, the low timbre of his voice soothing her soul with every word.

“I want nothing more,” she admitted shakingly.

“Then why stop? Why not give in to your deepest desires?”

“Because…”

She closed her eyes, fighting against a bout of sadness and nausea. Why, indeed. Why did she fight this? Wasn’t this what she had longed for not a week ago, lying in that ornate Orlesian bed in Halamshiral, pleasuring herself to the thought of him?

No, this, exactly this, was why Solas had withdrawn from her in the first place. Her lack of self-control had led her to demand too much of him. At Halamshiral, she had lost herself in the heat of the moment and now her mind struggled to accept the simple truth: that the tender feelings between them needed more time to grow. She had to accept that. Just like she had to accept that her clan was gone – and that it had been her action that had led to its destruction.

“Because…”

She needed to get a hold of herself. Otherwise, she would achieve nothing but endangering herself and the people in her care. Cole had warned her that her feelings, reinforced by the power of the anchor, could make the Veil more permeable. The foul spirit that had created this dreamscape would try to latch onto her to draw from her strength or possess her body. It was up to her to prevent that from happening.

And if not for her responsibility as Inquisitor, she had to do it to honor her mother's legacy. Athenais had resisted the temptations of spirits and demons all her life, never accepting their offers, no matter how enticing.

She drew in a shuddering breath, feeling pain and sadness tugging at her. Those feelings were real, she could feel it now, like an echo in her very being. She took them in, held onto them, let them guide her until she slowly felt the temptation of the dream subside.

“Because this isn’t _real._ ”

With that last word, the dreamscape around her shattered. The spirit – or rather, the demon – that had masqueraded as Solas dispersed into a mist of purest black. It slithered away from her and devoured the grassland and the halla, the campfires and the color of the sky. Soon, all that was left was Lavellan and the demon staring at each other across the ruined landscape of the Fade.

“You will _regret_ this!”

The demon’s voice was a sharp hiss ringing in her ears and she covered them with her hands almost instinctively. A violent shivered worked its way down her back as the demon let out a long screeching sound that echoed in her bones. Lavellan steeled herself, standing in a fighting stance and bracing herself for an attack.

“We’ll see about that,” she replied through gritted teeth.

Another high-pitched cry filled the air. Then the demon slithered away. Soon, it had merged with the surrounding shadows, leaving nothing behind but an icy cold that began to creep into Lavellan’s body and bones. 

She waited and waited, peering into the looming darkness to catch a glimpse of her impending doom. Nothing happened. The demon had given up, for a little while at least. It was up to her to make the best of the time she had been granted. 

But first, she needed to wake up.

For real this time.


	9. Walker Of The Lonely Path

Lavellan pried her eyes open and found her quarters dark and dangerously cold. Every breath felt like a shard of ice piercing her lungs and her limbs had gone numb and stiff from her extended slumber. She pushed herself up with a painful groan, exhaling fine white mist. Slowly but surely, she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and took in her surroundings.

The hearth fire had gone out a good long while ago. The logs inside the fireplace had burned to a pile of dark grey ash without so much as a glimmer of a burning ember. Frostwork had begun to cover every bit of the stained glass windows of her room and turned the thick red carpet on the floor into a rigid piece of fabric.

Her body still hurt while she rummaged through her nightstand to find a box of matches and her fingers trembled when she used them to light a candle. The light of the small flame stung in her eyes, sending a white-hot pang through her skull. Lavellan groaned, waiting for the burst of pain to subside, then reached for her boots and slipped in. They, too, were freezing cold but she hoped that they would warm up in time.

After she had put on several additional pieces of clothing, including a bulky coat of Avvar make that was padded with bear fur, she shuffled over to the pile of fresh wood that sat next to the fireplace. She took five of the logs and placed them in the hearth, careful to leave enough room for a bit of tinder.

Before she could set the amadou ablaze with the candle, she caught a glimpse of something else in the cold ashes. When she picked it up it looked like a flake ready to crumple, but when she examined it further, she realized it was a fragment of the duke’s letter. There were delicate lines of writing still legible despite the scorch marks.

Lavellan looked at the writing grimly. She thought she had burned that cursed message to a crisp when Cole had come to aid her. Had this tiny piece of the letter helped the demon to get a hold of her? Or had the mark on her hand accomplished that?

For a moment, she was tempted to simply crush the fragment in her fist. Then she decided she needed to know more, so she slipped it carefully between two pages of her own writing that lay scattered on her desk before lighting the fire.

She watched with wide eyes as the flames licked along the sides of the fresh logs of wood. The fire grew by the minute and she welcomed its warms on her cheeks. 

It would take hours for her quarters to heat up again though and she wasn’t sure she could endure the cold this long. It was a wonder she hadn’t accidentally frozen to death while her mind had been trapped in the Fade. It could have killed her just as easily as the demon ever could.

A bitter taste blossomed on her tongue. Even the memory of the dreadful creature made her skin crawl. Embarrassment, pain, sadness… she felt it all at once. All thanks to the demon that had haunted her in her sleep.

But what was it? And where had it come from?

She had fought demons long before the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. There had always been foul spirits that had managed to escape the Fade and it was a hunter’s duty to know the forms they could take. Many Dalish had lost their lives to such demons roaming the wilds, ambushing careless hunters and turning them into prey. But this wasn’t the only way they had endangered the life of her people. She had seen Deshanna battle many demons in her dreams to ward them off before they could possess a single member of the Lavellan clan. The old keeper had educated them all, mages and hunters alike, in due time about their shapes and forms. Thanks to her, Lavellan knew many of the tricks demons used to get a hold of their target.

This demon, however, had been different. As soon as Lavellan had become aware of its presence, it had dispersed into a puff of smoke with no real form to speak of. The only distinguishing thing about it was the hissing voice that still rang in her ears: _“You will regret this.”_

Lavellan swallowed, eyes still fixed on the fire, and began to massage the palm of her left hand. She doubted that Cole would have allowed a demon to follow her, had he known about its existence. But he had warned her that her emotions might attract unwanted attention from the other side of the Veil. _Another mistake,_ she thought bitterly. She hadn’t suspected it to happen so soon. She had hoped that burning the letter from Duke Antoine had somehow culled her bitterness, making her a less enticing target for demons and spirits.

It had been a false hope, though.

The anguish was still there, lingering, and the demon had been able to design a dream so vivid that it had been nearly impossible for her to distinguish it from reality. Undoubtedly, the foul creature had drawn from her memories to compose the dream. Her youth in the Free Marchers. Her love for old ruins. Racing with the halla. Holding Solas in her arms…

Solas…

Thinking of him felt like someone was driving a blade through her chest. She needed to talk to him, _apologize_ to him. That she could get right, at least, after having failed her clan so miserably. She owed him that much.

Of all the people in Skyhold, she should have known that Solas would understand her anguish. Not despite the fact that he never talked about his past, but because of it. Creators, she had seen the pain in his eyes when his friend Wisdom had perished! Why had she been so intentionally cruel to him?

 _Because you were in pain,_ she thought, _and you didn’t know how to help yourself._

But it hadn’t been just that. After the Winter Palace, Solas had made sure to keep his distance as if he regretted what had happened between them. Even the idea of losing him was… too much to comprehend. Somehow he had become just as important to her as her clan had ever been. Her feelings for him frightened her more than they should.

“I love you,” she whispered, trying to taste the words on her mouth. That is what she should have said to him. She should have said it to him a good long while ago.

Lavellan let out a frustrated sigh. She had to speak with Solas when the time was right. For now, she needed to learn more about the demon and its intentions. Only then would she know how to protect herself from its attacks. Maybe Cole could tell her more if she was able to find him.

But, more importantly, she needed to get away from Skyhold as soon as possible. If the demon was as powerful as she suspected, she had no doubt that it would try again to possess her, and soon. If she let her grief get the better of her again, the demon would wield more power than any demon before. It would be a calamity in its own right. It might even be able to control the mark – _through her_.

“It will not come to this,” she said grimly, speaking as much to the demon as to herself.

“Cole?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. She tried to focus on the mark on her hand and imagined herself reaching out to the Fade. In her mind, she saw its endless energies flow around her. _Cole,_ she thought. _Are you there?_ She cast the idea of her question into the magical stream pooling around her like a bottled message tossed into an ocean and hoped that it would reach her companion. And then she waited and listened into the darkness.

Nothing. Not even the wisp of a response.

 _What did you expect?_ Lavellan thought grimly. _You’re not a mage, remember? Reaching for spirits in the Fade might not even work like that..._

She had to do this the old fashioned way, then. Maybe she could find the young man in Herald’s Rest, the tavern across the courtyard. He spent a lot of time on the upper floors observing the people below and listening to their secret troubles. Maybe he was still there.

Lavellan rose to her feet with another sigh and tossed aside the Avvar coat again. It would be much warmer downstairs and she wasn’t keen to catch a cold due to sweat gathering on her skin. So she made her way to the staircase with her arms wrapped firmly around herself and started her descent.

Skyhold’s main hall was quiet save for a few fires crackling in the braziers scattered across the room. Lavellan assumed it was several hours past midnight, going by the emptiness of the place. The air was warm and stuffy but after the all-pervading cold in her quarters she enjoyed it nonetheless. 

She took her time, walking leisurely across the hall, to let the warmth seep into her skin while she regarded the statues along the walls. They were so obviously Orlesian it hurt, decked with gold-leaf as they were. She had chosen them as decoration for the main hall to appease the Orlesian gentry that had come to Skyhold after the destruction of Haven and to show her willingness to work with the empire against Corypheus. Now the faces of the statues looked hollow, the splendor completely lost on her. Suddenly, she missed sleeping out in the open with nothing but the stars above her and the wind in the forest canopy as her companion.

By the time she reached the door that led to the rotunda, the tension in her muscles had somewhat subsided and her bones had stopped hurting from the cold. Yet, a chill sparked on her shoulders and worked its way down her spine when she found the door ajar and noticed the dim light of candles gleaming somewhere in the rotunda.

Was Solas still awake?

On a whim, she walked over to the door and down the narrow corridor. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips, thinking feverishly about what she would say. There was so much that she needed to tell him, far too much. Maybe it was best to start with the demon. It would give her time to…

Her heart dropped when she entered the rotunda and found it empty. The candles on the work desk in the middle of the room had been extinguished hours ago, with papers and books lying scattered between them. The floor around the desk was marked with tiny dots of color – dark blue, yellow, orange, and gold, as far as she could tell. She followed the trail of color dots to the rounded wall. Her mouth was wide open before she could stop herself.

While Lavellan had been asleep, Solas had added another section to his mural. She recognized Empress Celene in her royal blue dress and golden headpiece. The figure was framed by stone arches and little ornaments that resembled the crowd of nobles attending the ball. Halamshiral.

Flashes of memories rushed past her. It was amazing how weeks could pass without even the slightest of changes while one night could change the course of history. When she had stepped into that ballroom with Duke Gaspard by her side, she had felt trapped. She was more accustomed to snares and ambushes and knew their way around them, but not false smiles and poisoned words. Every step had to be measured carefully or she might fail. If it hadn’t been for the help of her companions, she might not have made it through.

 _But you did,_ she reminded herself.

She blinked, forcing herself to return to the present. This was neither the time nor the place to think back to Winter Palace. She had to find a way forward, careful not to fall for another trap set up by the unknown demon. And she would, just like she had in Halamshiral.

With a deep breath, she gazed up to the upper floors of the rotunda to determine where the candlelight was coming from.

 _Looks like someone has lit the candelabras in the library,_ she realized. _Who’s up there at this time of night?_

She walked over to the door to her left, the one that led to the staircase and up to the library. It didn’t take her long to ascend the stairs and reach the landing that spanned the walls of the rotunda. A few steps more and she found Dorian in his reading nook. He was sitting in an old leather armchair, seemingly immersed in a brick of a book.

“Well, it seems like I’m not the only one who’s restless tonight,” she muttered with a soft smile.

The Tevinter mage gave the tiniest of jolts when he heard Lavellan’s voice. Dorian’s gaze flicked up, finding hers almost instantly. His eyes went wide when he recognized her.

“It’s you,” he exclaimed in a tone as if this was the first time she came to visit him. Then he settled back in his chair, musing to himself. “Interesting.”

Despite her feelings, the situation, the absurdness of it all, his reaction made her laugh. She had expected him to start fussing over her or shower her with his condolences. Instead, he was his usual self. Tired, maybe, and a little distracted, but still recognizably him. A tiny bit of normality when she felt like everything had gone awry. It made her feel like the world had not ended just yet.

She walked over to the desk that stood on one side of the nook and nodded towards the tome Dorian was still holding. “How’s the book?” she asked. “Any good?”

Dorian wiggled his head. “Not really,” he said with an exasperated sigh, holding up the book so she could catch a glimpse of the golden letters engraved on the leather cover. “I was hoping that good old Brother Genetivi would provide me with some light reading with his findings of my homeland, but so far he is making a piss-poor job of it. Not only is this book full of baffling misconceptions about Tevinter customs, it is also mind-numbingly dull.”

Lavellan smiled at Dorian. He was trying hard to keep his tone cheerful and jovial, but it didn’t quite mesh with the shadows beneath his eyes and the tightness around his lips. There was something on his mind that he wanted to distract himself from. His father perhaps? Dorian had been in low spirits when they had returned from their meeting with Halward Pavus in Redcliffe. Could the Pavus family have tried again to convince their son to abandon the Inquisition? 

“Is everything alright?”

Dorian closed the book, one finger stuck between the pages, and let it drop into his lap.

“If _I’m_ alright?” he asked disbelievingly and let out a sardonic laugh. “My dear woman, given the circumstances, I ought to be the one asking _you_ if you’re feeling fine.”

Lavellan crossed her arms before her chest, feeling an almost familiar dread tightening around her heart. She knew that Dorian didn’t want to draw attention to recent events, but she also knew that he and her other companions would bring the matter up eventually. If only the pain wasn’t so fresh, still, so vivid in her mind. She had been able to forget it for a while in her dream, but now that she had awoken from her slumber and the last fragments of the eidolon the demon had crafted for her had disappeared, the knowledge that Erendir, Almaril, and all the rest of Clan Lavellan had moved on to the world beyond the Fade returned to her. And with it came the realization that there was no way to calm the pain, no way to sidestep it like a skillful opponent. She had to live through it. She had to endure. Alone. As always.

“No,” she admitted shakingly. “No, I’m not. And I’m not sure if I ever will be.”

“Hm.” Dorian pressed his lips into a thin line. “I see.”

She drew in a shuddering breath as a tide of emotions rose inside her again. It rushed through her like a burst of water flooding an old river bed. Tears began to cloud her vision and she tried to blink them away.

“If I can do something, anything, to help,” he said in a calm voice, “please let me know.”

She sniveled and cleared her throat. 

“That’s very generous of you, Dorian.”

Dorian gave her the faintest of smiles. “I’m merely returning a favor.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve trusted me when you had no reason to,” he said quietly, now closing the book for good. He placed it on the small side table next to his chair with a low thud. “And then you showed kindness and consideration when no one else would. For that, I owe you and I will repay that debt as best I can.”

She blinked at him, perplexed by his words. 

“You don’t owe me anything, Dorian,” she said and gave him a grim smile. “Really.”

“I do,” he said. His voice was calm but full of self-assuredness. “And so do many of the others.”

She had never seen it this way. When Cassandra had told her about her plans to find the remaining seekers, she had seen it as her responsibility to help her. When Sera had asked for a march in Verchiel to help the Red Jennies, she had given the order without batting an eyelid. She had lent her hand to Blackwall to find traces of the Grey Wardens and Solas to rescue his spirit friend. And she would gladly extend that kindness to Varric, Vivienne, Cole, or Iron Bull. Even her advisors if need be. They were all in her care, along with all the others in the Inquisition, because she was the only one capable of keeping them safe. 

But then again… 

She had pledged to stop Corypheus, nothing more. No one had forced her to aid her companions. They might have understood that as the Inquisitor she didn’t have the time or resources to attend to every matter personally, And yet, she had and she had done so gladly. Because, for better or worse, it had felt _right_ to help them.

“The god of secrets has given you a keen eye, _da’len,_ ” Deshanna had once told her assuringly, “and a kind heart to match. Follow his guidance and he will bring purpose to your life. He will show you the way.”

She missed the old woman. The keeper had always known how to lift her spirits.

“Everyone’s been worried sick over you, you know,” Dorian told her. “We haven’t heard anything from you in three days. Cassandra was close to breaking into your quarters tonight to check up on you. I swear ...”

“Wait, what?!” she exclaimed, cutting him short. “I’ve been up in my quarters for _three days_?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, yes,” he said and regarded her intently. 

_Fenedhis lasa..._

How far had she ventured into the Fade by accident? No wonder the demon had been able to access so many of her most private memories so easily. 

“Fuck,” she said and pushed herself away from the desk. “That’s not good.”

The frown on Dorian’s face deepened.

“I–” Lavellan had already taken a step away from the reading nook, eager to rush off and find Cole as she had planned. But then she turned to Dorian again. The Tevinter mage still sat in his armchairs, his hands clasped in his lap. His curved brows were still knit in a furrow while he looked at her. 

Of all her companions, Dorian might best understand what it felt like to be trapped. They had been stranded in a possible future not too long ago. If it hadn’t been for Dorian’s wit and knowledge of magic, they might have ended up living in the nightmare world Corypheus was so set on creating. Within an hour, he had been able to reverse-engineer Alexius’s twisted time magic. And then had brought them back through time so they could start again. He had put his skill and talent at her disposal ever since, granting the Inquisition a particular edge in its fight against the Venatori and their revered Elder One.

Surely a demon couldn’t be a match for a mage of such talent.

“You know what,” she said and flashed a smile at Dorian. “I think there actually _is_ something I could use your help with.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the read. Come find me on [Tumblr](https://in-arlathan.tumblr.com), if you like. I'd be happy to hear from you.


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